


Adagio

by AuroraRayne



Series: Adagio [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Ambiguous Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Fluff, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Second Person, Past Relationship(s), Present Tense, Romance, Second Kiss, Sort Of, The thirst is real, all the miqo'te headcanons, but in a romantic way because I can't with these two, catboys in love, mention of past first kiss, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-09-01 02:15:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 43,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20250502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraRayne/pseuds/AuroraRayne
Summary: Lyna's request makes more sense now, though perhaps not in the way she intended.Pray be patient with him.It's not just the Exarch's body that needs time to heal.G'raha grows heavy against you as he succumbs to sleep. "Stay with me," he murmurs into your chest. His hand finds your tail where it curls around him, and he holds it ever so gently in an unspoken claim.Not much has changed after all.He is asleep before you can answer, but it doesn't matter. This time you will be there when he wakes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I haven't written in several years and never anything under this username, but ShB destroyed me so please excuse me while I spill my feels all over the place. This first part can technically be read as a one-shot, though I will be writing more. (I think I caught all my tense mistakes but please forgive any dumb that I haven't found yet, second person POV is a new one for me!)

A fizzling crack erupts in the square. You flinch, eyes rapidly coming back into focus as you whip your head up, instinctively scanning the surroundings for danger.

You sigh- a huffing, annoyed thing. The Warrior of Light, of _Darkness_ now, startled out of a daze by a gods-damned sparkler, of all things.

"How many of those blasted things did you give her?" Thancred asks from his place on the stone next to you. His voice is thick with irritation that is strictly feigned, as it only could be as he watches Ryne instructing a cluster of the Crystarium's youth on how to properly activate a Gridanian sparkler.

"I only had a small handful with me when I came to The First, don't worry," you say with mirth as glittering green erupts above the people's heads.

Ryne laughs.

_Laughs. _

The sound is like music. The way you see Thancred smile tells you that the two of you are of the same mind.

"Good. Last I remember, you always sold them off to the first merchant foolish enough to take them off your hands."

"I still do, when my travels aren't quite so spontaneous." 

Thancred snorts. "Now there's an understatement."

"I forgot I had them," you admit. Your voice takes a wistful turn as you add, "but I'm glad I did. It would've been a shame to miss this in exchange for a few gil."

A raucous burst of laughter fills the air from the tavern across the way. A trio of bards improvises a merry tune that sets toes tapping and light hearts dancing. Children giggle in delight as Urianger summons the stars in miniature, calling forth a cluster of constellations as he tells them tales of worlds unknown.

This is why they fight. This is what makes it worth every bruising battle, every loss, every impossible hope flung in the face of fate.

So much is lost, so _many_ are lost along the way, but in the end, you find peace. _Hope._ Maybe not for yourself, but for the innocents who call you their hero.

You are far from peace, but Twelve help you, you do dare to hope, for fate saw fit not to take from you this time, but to return something it had stolen. Some_one_.

A dear friend who thought himself forgotten. A friend who lies weak and weary in the crystal tower as his citizens celebrate the return of night without him.

A shiver of unrest slithers up your spine, making your ears twitch.

Alphinaud calls for you and Thancred, inviting you to join in the antics.

"Shall we?" Thancred asks, but you shake your head and politely decline, rightfully claiming tiredness. He gives you a considering hum. "And do you honestly expect them to believe _you_ of all people offered that as an excuse?"

"Unlikely," you admit.

"Were Urianger not giving introductory astrology lessons, I believe he might ask you something along the lines of, 'What vexes thou, mine companion?'"

You laugh and ask, "Am I so obviously vexed?"

"Your tail hasn't stopped whapping since we sat down, you damned cat."

Your tail curls around of its own volition, wrapping against your leg as your ears flatten back in embarrassment. 

"Luckily for you, our dear starseer is busy, and I'm not one to pry. I'll be happy to make your excuses in exchange for one thing."

"And what would that be?" 

Thancred pats your shoulder and pushes himself to his feet. Another giddy cry from Ryne has him calling back, _"I'll be there in a moment!"_

You look up at him, and though his eyes say he clearly doesn't know, he does understand, and that is more than you could ask for.

"Give my regards to the Exarch, would you?"

Although you can hear his smirk, you nod in answer. In gratitude.

The Crystal Exarch.

Your tail smacks the stone.

_G'raha._

"You've given them the stars and impossible stories to tell throughout the ages," Thancred says in a rare moment of reflection before he walks away to join the festivities. "Forgive them for forgetting that individuals capable of such grand deeds may wish to write stories of their own sometimes."  
\---

The Crystarium gatekeep grants you entry to the Ocular, pulling the grand door wide with a deep bow. You thank him with a smile more present than you normally manage when you pay the city's ruler a visit. This smile actually reaches your eyes, you feel. The time for official business and pretence has passed. 

The gatekeep is taken aback at being addressed so openly by you after months of stern professionalism. "No need to thank me for doing my duty, sir," he sputters, "but you're welcome all the same."

"I hope your shift allows you time to enjoy the evening's party?" you ask.

"Aye, the Captain generously arranged the schedule with several changes tonight." 

"I'm glad to hear it." You incline your head politely as the gatekeep closes the door behind you with a salute. 

The sight of the empty hall stills your breath with it's beauty. Azure crystal and royal gold rise up around you and hold you in their cold embrace. The heavens swirl in their orbit beneath your feet, a perfect mirror of what you know hangs in the sky beyond those mighty doors. How many nights did the Exarch spend tracing their path with his cloaked eyes, longing to bring their true light to his people? Trying to bring _your_ light to this world?

And perhaps, even, to _him_?

The tower thrums around you, and you close your eyes to listen to it’s muted lullaby. 

What a soothing place to slumber.

The sounds of shifting armor and boots on stone crescendo from the corridor until Lyna reaches the Ocular. She welcomes you as cordially as ever, but the tilt of her lofty ears and the crease of her brow contradict her tone.

"Have I come at a bad time?" you ask after pleasantries have been exchanged.

"Not at all. I am merely surprised that you've come during the celebration. There are surely more exciting places in the Crystarium to be at a time like this."

"I've had my fill of excitement for a while," you say. It earns you the reluctant smile you were hoping for.

"That's not the first time this evening I've heard such a sentiment," Lyna says fondly. She quickly reassumes her soldier's air. "Is there something I may assist you with, or do you have business with the Exarch?"

"Is he accepting visitors?"

"Visitors, no, but he advised in no uncertain terms that I am not to turn away the Warrior of Darkness, should he make an appearance." She turns to face the corridor and beckons you to follow. "This way."

The imposing Viera leads you to one of the tower's many majestic spiral staircases, snaking around a jagged pillar of ethereal blue. You've seen much of the tower both in your adventures with NOAH and your time in the First, but this is a recess you've never seen. You remark as much, and Lyna stops at the foot of the stairs.

"His private quarters are above. They often go unused, but he does sometimes withdraw here after a tiresome journey."

When he has been away from the tower for too long, you interpret. 

When the Exarch is feeling unwell.

"Are you certain my presence is welcome?" you ask.

Lyna nods. "I did not expect your visit this evening, and perhaps he did not either, but if I may speak openly-" she looks to you for permission and you nod, giving it freely. "I believe he was hoping for your company. I bade him not to speak at length as he was growing tired from the medicines the apothecary delivered, but he wanted me to know that the two of you are acquainted… from another time. From before the tower. That his identity was unknown to you until you slew Lord Vauthry."

She looks to you for a reaction. Your lack of one is answer enough, it seems. It doesn't stop her from taking in a shaky breath, as though finally accepting the words as truth.

"He _smiled_ when he spoke your name, with such joy. I've never-" Lyna catches herself. She reins in the emotion that blossoms in her normally calm, collected voice. "I have known his lordship all my life, yet I have never known him to have a friend."

She grips the rail of the golden banister and trains her eyes on a point on the distance. Her gauntlets clack as her hand squeezes the metal, then she loosens her hold. When she speaks, her voice is neutral.

"He retired shortly after sundown, so I imagine he may still be resting. Pray be patient with him."

"I shall."

Lyna offers you a bow, her ivory hair spilling over armored shoulders, and turns to leave. 

"Captain! Surely you need to announce my arrival?"

"I am not permitted to enter these rooms," she explains. "I must ask that you forgive the lack of propriety."

_Ah._ So these rooms do not belong to the revered Crystal Exarch, you surmise, but to the man beneath the cowl.

"I understand. Thank you."

"It is you who have my thanks," Lyna says, adding your untitled name with unmistakable sincerity. "By your leave?"

You salute the Captain, the stoic ward of the man lying wounded in the chambers above. She mirrors the gesture and turns on her foot, leaving you alone in the great hall.

The staircase stands before you like another trial to be conquered. It is foolish to think so, but you can't help the nerves that shake your resolve. You close your eyes and inhale slowly, steadily. These aren't the same nerves that rattled you to your core as you took up Ardbert's axe. They're nothing like the fear that rooted you in place as Hades rose up from the abyss of Amaurot.

This trepidation is… refreshing. 

It was not easy to lose G'raha, but you could hardly begrudge him the decision to follow his destiny. It was all you had ever done. Although your chest ached as the doors to the tower swung closed and G'raha took one last look at you over his shoulder before he was sealed away for centuries, it was not an unhappy ending. There was no death, no bloodshed, merely an indefinite pause that you would not live to see resume. 

You comforted yourself knowing that he was still alive, that feisty young Miqo'te with both the desert sun and summer sky burning in his eager eyes. That brilliant boy whose hero worship for you quickly faded during your time together in the glow of the crystal tower, your acquaintance rapidly evolving into true friendship and an unexpected companionship that was unlike any you had ever known, not even among your beloved comrades. 

Anything that could've been had been… _paused._

He was there, and then he was not. You could never have expected anything else. You give and you give, but rarely is anything yours to keep.

_G'raha's tail twining with yours as you reclined in your shared tent at twilight, basking in the warmth of the wind-up sun illuminating your research texts. Reminisced stories of your tribal homelands over twin glasses of mead at the taverns in Mor Dhona, after chocobo-back archery contests you never won on the rare afternoons you had for leisure. _

_The way he looked when you told him that of course he could journey with you when the crystal tower had been sealed._

_The longing, lonely ache in the Exarch's voice at the cliffside in Kholusia when he all but asked for the very same thing he had three hundred years ago._

It had been long enough.

The climb to the rooms encircling the tucked away spire is not a long one, but it is hard on battle weary bones. Your legs burn by the time you reach the top step. A massive library greets you with open doors, but a quick survey finds it empty. You circle around to the next door, left open a crack. It doesn't creak as you push against the gilded stone.

You freeze.

Is that… your _pickaxe_?

You would recognize that handle anywhere. A moment of boredom at camp brought about a conversation of your crafting hobbies. G'raha- ever the archer- dared to doubt your claims of carpentry, so you carved an intricate pattern of Seeker symbolry into the wood, much like the markings on both of your faces. He had been delighted. You secretly planned to make a new bow for him as a gift for that year's Starlight Celebration. When the holiday arrived, though, G'raha was asleep.

The pickaxe was forgotten at the campsite, you thought, but you must have left it inside the tower. There it hangs on the wall beside some tools you recognize as Cid's, and a familiar old bow and quiver. Simple items from a time long past, but here they are, displayed with reverence.

Like the rest of the tower's rooms, this one is riddled with books. Piles of tomes stand beside a bed covered in a mound of blankets, pushed mostly to the side to accommodate a sleeping Exarch. His back is to you, half skin, half crystal crawling up his side in a jagged embrace. In the center just below his ribcage at the spine is a horrific pitted crack, red and raw at the core in brutal contrast to the blue crystal.

Emet Selch's gunfire echoes in your mind, deafening.

Despite what the Exarch thinks, this is his body. There is no doubting that fact with his wounds laid bare like this. He could have died.

You walk around to the other side of the bed and sit beside him on the floor. He looks younger like this, without a century of Norvrandt's suffering and the weight of the world marring his face. The man's wry comments of being an old man aside, he really hasn't aged. The crystal has sapped the vibrance from the ends of his hair and parts of his fur, but before you rests a man in his physical youth. The years have passed, but they have only worn down his soul.

Speaking of hair, it seems the Exarch never grew out of the habit of going to sleep without properly drying it. Loosely braided pale locks are trapped under his head in a damp mess, tufts escaping with a mind of their own. The fur of his right ear sticks out untamed in all directions, his left ear squashed beneath his head.

You can't help but laugh at the endearing sight. Lyna likely expects that her guardian keeps these rooms for matters of the utmost secrecy and importance. She wouldn't be wrong. You know just as well as he does how important cat naps can be.

The sound of your laugh stirs the Exarch. He groans in protest at being woken and covers his face with his crystal arm, digging his poor ear even further into the pillow.

Gods, you forgot how precious he could be.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," you say softly from your cross-legged spot on the floor. 

He says your name without uncovering his face. "Are you truly here or am I hallucinating?" he asks groggily.

"Am I a convincing hallucination? I hope I don't disappoint."

"You never could." The words are given so freely, they make your breath catch. "I must say, the potions Lyna guilts me into taking are strong enough to knock out an amaro."

"But how are you feeling?"

"Fatigued, but a good deal improved. I suppose the medicine does have it's merit." He yawns, burrowing deeper into the cushion. His arm slides down and red eyes peel open to meet yours. They take a moment to come into focus, then it's as if he couldn't look away from you if he summoned all his strength to try.

"You really are here," he says in muted wonder. He pushes himself up onto an elbow and winces. You rise to your knees and grasp his shoulder to steady him.

"Rest," you plead. "You're not well."

"Neither are you, my friend," the Exarch counters. He's still trying to sit up, stubborn as ever.

_"G'raha."_

His ears perk at the sound of his true name, still new yet so familiar. Then his ears swivel down, abashed. "Forgive me. I do not wish you to trouble yourself on my account after all I have already asked of you."

"Well I do." You tentatively reach out and brush some of the wayward hair from his face, making sure not to graze the fresh cut that mars the skin above his brow bone. "I am thrilled that I even have the opportunity to trouble myself for you again, though it is no trouble at all. Now please, it's _me_. You've shoved me off my mount into the morbol swamp and then had the audacity to steal my blankets when I was trying to warm up, but you won't let me help you sit? Unless it is what you want, there is no need for such formality. I pray the years have not made strangers of us."

Your thumb strokes the crystal that creeps up his cheek. His eyes hold yours, searching.

"I did not steal your blankets. I decided that perhaps you would warm faster if I shared them with you. I recall you being quite amenable to my plan."

He leans into your palm. You take advantage of his openness and smooth the rest of his bangs down. His hair is as soft as you remember.

"No formalities," G'raha agrees. "It has been difficult enough these past months pretending as though I knew you only from my history books."

You press your forehead to his and scratch behind his ear. The tender touch makes his breath hitch, but he presses back, instinctually returning the comforting gesture.

"I'm glad," you say. "So very glad."

G'raha's ear pops up when you release it, the soft shell of it standing at attention. The damp fur flicks droplets into the air that sprinkle down onto your heads.

He laughs, his narrow eyes thinning even more so in the way you always found so charming. You use the lighthearted moment to take his arm and hold him steady while he strains against his injuries to sit up.

The blanket draped over his waist falls aside with the motion, revealing the top of his white cotton trousers. A ruby red tuft sticks out the back before disappearing into a rolled bath towel.

If you hadn't done the same a hundred times over, you would have teased him. 

You rock to your feet and place a lingering touch on his knee, as though to say you will not stray far. 

"I don't suppose Lyna brought you anything for your back?"

"She doesn't know." G'raha's contented smile thins. "I had hoped you hadn't seen. It's rather grotesque."

"No more than any other wound." The bedside table hosts a number of things, but nothing like what you seek. As much as you hate to imagine him hurt, the odds of a century passing without cracked crystal seem impossible. "Do you keep anything for these types of injuries?"

"There is a recipe for a salve that provides some assistance. I synthesized a jar earlier this evening before it had occurred to me that I cannot reach to apply it."

The self deprecation in G'raha's tone makes you want to bat his ear, but you let it go. "Where did you put it?" you ask. "I'll do it for you."

The room falls silent. You stop rummaging through the items on the table and turn to him. The look in his eyes is almost more than you can bear.

"If you're not comfortable with that, I understand," you say.

"It isn't that," G'raha says. "Tis just...The years have not been unkind, but…" He squints tightly and exhales before fixing his gaze on you again. He wrings his hands in his lap. The nervous gesture is one you're coming to recognize from him. "Until I summoned your friends from the Source and confided my plan in Urianger, it had been over a hundred years since I had the opportunity to meet someone's eyes."

The rest goes unsaid. Your heart breaks for how impossibly lonely he must have been. You do not say anything, but you search his eyes and hope he finds understanding in yours. You would have offered sorrowful words to him when you were both younger, but the man sitting before you is a selfless leader. You won't belittle his pain by assuming that some pretty words will make it any better. His pride doesn't need any misplaced pity.

A hundred years without a name, without a friend, a touch, or even a knowing glance.

It occurs to you just what he is saying.

This moment, this quiet evening between you, means more to him than you can begin to fathom. His weaknesses are laid fragile and bare. It is you he trusts not to shatter him.

_This is who I am. Look upon this thing I have become and tell me-_ what do you see? _You once said that I could journey beside you, but what say you now when my legs can no longer carry me as far?_

That red stare will be your undoing, and you will succumb to it in any age, on any star.

It strikes you suddenly, not that the fire of his eyes could set you ablaze, but that the boundless knowledge of the scholar you once knew has been replaced with a century of hard-won wisdom.

But you know something that he does not: history books will tell you of the hero's deeds, but they fail to remember the ones who gave the hero the strength to carry on. They forget the ones who matter most.

"I do not ask for help, but should you wish to offer your assistance, you would have my utmost gratitude." You remain silent long enough that G'raha's eyelids shutter and he exhales a steadying breath. "I dropped the container while attempting to reach my back. I believe it rolled under the bed."

A brief exploration into the dusty recess under the bed yields a number of dust bunnies and puffs of shedded tail fur. You blow them to the side and stretch to grab the small jar just within reach of your fingertips. The substance inside is luckily just thick enough that it didn't spill.

You dust yourself off and climb onto the bed, kneeling next to G'raha. A surprised tinge of red spreads across his cheeks and he curls his fingers into the sheet on his lap.

Figuring that he's already flustered, you scoot behind him and sit with your legs crossed. Your knee brushes the skin that peeks out above his trousers.

"I'll help you clean in here once we're both on the mend," you say conversationally to ease him. "I can't imagine there's been much time for sweeping these past months." 

The rise and fall of G'raha's chest quickens. His words come more shakily than before, but his voice is still dignified. "There have been matters more pressing than a moment's housework, yes. Though I imagine you will have long since returned to the Source before you consider wielding a broom."

"I'm not so certain," you say. "I quite like it here. And even should duty carry me back to the Source, there is someone here I have missed a great deal. I should not like to be away for long, if he will tolerate my company."

The broad shoulders before you tremble. "Your company is most tolerable, " G'raha whispers. "I have missed you as well, my dear friend. More than I have words to express."

As you move his cocooned tail to the side so it doesn't feel cramped between the two of you, you can't help but dwell upon that thought. The keeper of the crystal tower has nothing if not endless words.

You run your fingers through the fur at the base of his tail. G'raha rewards you with a contented hum.

"Any special instructions for this stuff?" you ask as you scoop up a dollop of the healing salve. It is shockingly cool to the touch with a vapor that tickles your nose.

"No, just fill in the cracks, as it were. It will dry and fall away within a few hours, but the mixture encourages my aether to regenerate the crystal while offering some manner of comfort."

"The years have made an alchemist of you," you tease.

"Well, I could hardly ask for such a thing from the apothecaries. I would not have any know the truth of my condition."

You trace a knuckle across the unblemished crystal that stretches up his right side, down over his arm. G'raha suppresses a shiver. The soft light around you refracts beneath the surface of his shoulder.

_Beautiful._

"You're warm," you observe. "I wasn't sure if it would be."

Living crystal. 

"I'm alive," he says in reply, and of course it is that simple. Simple, but no less incredible, for when you both woke the morning before, there was no guarantee that either of you would live to see another sunrise.

"Ready?" you ask, and G'raha replies his consent. "I'm sorry if this hurts."

"Worry not. It is only a bit of discomfort."

The moment the salve touches the raw core of the wound, G'raha flinches and hisses through his teeth. Instinctively you reach for his hand and he takes it, threading his crystalline fingers tightly through yours.

"It's alright," you repeat as you cover the rest of the wound. "I'm here."

Wiping the residue from your finger onto the towel that now falls loosely from around G'raha's tail, your other thumb caressing his palm in a soothing, repetitive motion. The smooth stone is a familiar texture, but none you've ever felt the warmth of life pulsing through. It should feel strange, but it doesn't. Your body instinctively knows that despite unfamiliar appearances, you've held this hand before.

He begins to relax after a long moment. The tension floods from him and his grip loosens, but he doesn't let go. 

"Better?"

"Yes," he says blissfully. "It takes time to react, but once it does..." He rolls his shoulders and sighs. "Such blessed relief."

G'raha becomes boneless. You stretch your leg and pull him back towards you, angling his torso so that his side nestles snugly against your chest, keeping his back to the open air to minimize pressure on the wound. His head finds a home in the crook of your neck. The shard on his cheek digs into your skin, but you can't even begin to care about the discomfort. He breathes your name with a peaceful _'thank you'_ and you hold him for the first time in years.

"You're welcome, Raha."

The tip of his tail silently taps the blanket, perfectly at peace. He mewls at the sound of his given name said in it's most intimate form. "You remember."

"Of course I do. I never wish to forget."

It was the clearest night you had ever seen, the night after the two of you escaped from the World of Darkness. A summer breeze warmed the air and although you were both exhausted, the day's adrenaline kept you from your sleeping bags. Instead G'raha saddled your chocobo - he had become such a part of you that even your mount deferred to him now- and led you away from the camp to an isolated inlet down the banks of Silvertear Lake. You made a fire and laid together in the sand, his head on your shoulder much as it is now, pointing out constellations and talking about everything and nothing, and for a moment you thought, _this is it. I have never had anything to call my own, but please, let me have this._

Eventually sleep began to pull you under, but G'raha said your name and brought you back to him, to the beautiful night and the crystal tower piercing the starry sky.

_"When the expedition is over, what will you do?"_

_"Hm? Oh, I don't know. I should like to rest awhile, but adventure has a way of finding me even when I'd prefer to stay hidden. I'm never in one place for long."_

_"As exciting as your adventures are, when you say it like that it sounds… lonely, in a way."_

_"It is. I try not to dwell on it. This mission has been a respite from all of that. I hate to think it's almost over."_

_"Well… if… if you might have any use for a marksman, or a scholar's mind… I could go with you, if you like."_

You had rolled over and looked into his newly matching eyes. Their red glow sent a thrill through your veins.

_"You would travel with me? Is that what you want?"_

_"I have never wished for anything more."_

G'raha's smile burned so brightly when you told him, _"I would like that very much."_

He had snuggled into your side again, and though you were on the tranquil edge of sleep, he had been restless.

You had opened your eyes to find him watching you. His troubled thoughts were unknown to you, but you reached over to scratch behind his ear in hopes to soothe him. It didn't work.

G'raha rose onto his elbow beside you. His fingers traced the tattoo along your jaw, his thumb grazing your bottom lip. Once you realized what he meant to do, he was already kissing you. It was a slow, sweet, agonizing thing, and it made your heart swell to bursting. You chased his mouth as he drew back to look at you, and you called him by his name. _Raha_. It was a right among your kind reserved for blood relatives, and an endearment allowed only between dearest loved ones. 

Oh, how that beautiful boy kissed you then, pure adoration and gratitude and full of ancient fire. You were never more happy to burn.

All too soon the linkpearl pinged in your ear, and G'raha protested Cid's mead-drunk summons by gnawing on your ear with a growl.

_"It's late. We should be getting back anyway."_ You dragged him to his feet with promises of tomorrow, of adventures to come, and he was quiet the whole ride back to camp.

Tomorrow came, but it was the day he surrendered himself to the crystal tower. 

You praised his bravery and dedication among the other members of NOAH, but alone in your tent, you wept selfish, angry tears for what could have been. 

He was gone, but now...

G'raha breathes deeply and busies his fingers with the hem of your shirt, bashful even now. "I'm afraid I cannot offer an apology for taking such liberties. I could not go to my fate with my head held high without having you know the extent of my affections for you. I wanted to know that what I felt from you had not been a fiction of my own making. I needed to know the taste of your kiss at least once before I slept."

You hug him closer and brush your lips against his forehead. "It was not a fiction. It _isn't_."

"You tease this old man," he says, doubting your words but relishing the affectionate touch. He's growing weary again, but this time he stays awake for you.

After tonight, you think. After tonight you'll start scolding him for such remarks about his age when they are clearly just a way to belittle himself. No old man could lead you into Holminster Switch with sword and shield raised between you and a Lightwarden.

"I thought you trusted me?"

"I do. You know I always have."

"Then believe me when I tell you that my regard for you has not changed. I never imagined it would be possible to see you again, so I tried not to dwell on what we lost, but now… I want nothing more than to pick up where we left off. I want those adventures we never got to have."

G'raha turns in your lap to face you, sitting on your thigh. Your hand snakes around his hip to keep him balanced. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage," he says, drained but serious. Defeated, almost. "The years have made me a different man than the one you remember. My soul aches to hear you say such things, but I know they are meant for different ears. The one you want is not me."

A vice tightens in your chest, and suddenly it is harder to breathe. "Raha," is all you can say, and even you can hear the sadness in your voice. 

"No," he admonishes, reaching up to touch your cheek. It's a gentle caress, but his tone is ragged, his Allagan gaze fiercely protective. "Please, do not misunderstand me. Personal matters have become foreign to me, so I fear I may have become inept in their discussion. I have been forced to keep so much from you, both then and now, and it has caused no small amount of grief for us both. You have my word as of this moment that there shall be no more concealment on my part."

G'raha pauses to collect himself. You take his crystalline hand from his lap and hold it reassuringly. He visibly relaxes.

"I will always be fully truthful with you," he swears. "You have my word."

"And you have mine," you reply. "Please, tell me what is bothering you."

"It is no secret that I have spent the last century endeavoring to bring you to this world. The hero of legends was our only hope, and your deeds gave the peoples of this world the inspiration to keep fighting even when all seemed for naught. Every day, I strived, I prayed to bring the Warrior of Light to the First. They know you from their bedtime stories, but none of them know _you_, as you truly are. They don't know the way you smile when you tell a poor joke, or how your nose crinkles when you yawn. Nobody knows how you pretended to sleep longer in the mornings just so that I would rub your ears to wake you, or how you try to teach your chocobo to whistle old tunes from Islabard when you've had too much to drink. I was the only one who acknowledged you were a true flesh and blood man, not just a two-dimensional savior, and I could never speak a word of it."

His words are near-whispered confession, the captivating melody of his eloquent voice so much more compelling now that you know who it truly belongs to. His eyes follow fingertips that trail down your neck almost sensually, one curling around the the choker you neglected to remove when you changed into your casual evening clothes.

"You were my sole purpose. You have been on my mind each and every day since I woke from my slumber. And then one day my summoning was at last successful, and there you were, but I could not know you… I left my heart with you that night, and I have yearned for you ever since. To have you here before me now after all this time is a moment cut from some impossible dream."

G'raha sighs and squeezes his eyes tight. The arrowhead markings bracketing his nose narrow as the skin pulls.

"I am rambling. Time has made a sentimental fool of me. What I mean to say is simple enough."

You brush your thumb over his in gentle encouragement. He opens his eyes and watches the play of your pale skin on his blue ribboned with gold. His mouth twists at the sight, but he steels himself and speaks to your joined hands.

"There is not a Shard in existence, nor a moment in any era where I do not belong to you. This much I have come to understand in my many long years. If you still wish me yours, I have never been anything but, though I… I am no longer strong enough to steal a kiss from you like I did that night, to chance looking into your eyes to discover that you find me lacking. I fear it might break me. Instead I would have you know me as the man I have become, and also… I ask that you help remind me of who I used to be. I have had scarce occasion to acknowledge my true self since we parted."

Lyna's request makes more sense now, though perhaps not in the way she intended.

_Pray be patient with him._

It's not just the Exarch's body that needs time to heal.

You lift his hand to your lips and place a feather-light kiss on his knuckles. "A step back, then?" 

"No. I would not undo a second of what has passed."

"Then what would you ask of me?"

Red eyes are piercing as they study yours.

_What are you willing to give?_

"Stay by my side. Time will see to the rest."

You press your forehead to his again, and G'raha nuzzles into it as you rub the nape of his neck. A happy sound rumbles in the back of his throat. His hair tickles your cheeks and you can hear his breath, so blessedly alive.

"As long as it isn't another hundred years," you say. "One of us is still mortal, if you remember."

G'raha laughs and ruffles your hair, folding down one of your ears and letting it spring into place again, just as you did to him before. Your earring jingles.

A peaceful warmth envelops you. In the strife of recent years, you had forgotten how tactile your kind could be. Neither of you had much of an upbringing, yours a distant orphan's memory of war and his spent as an outcast because of his Allagan eye until the Sharlayan scholars took him in. Two male Miqo'te- there couldn't have been more unlikely comrades, as far as the stereotypes go, withdrawn and nomadic and a touch territorial. But once you and G'raha were paired up during the expedition and you started working together, something simultaneously clicked. It was rare, but sometimes instinct would say, _this one is safe. This one is home._

"You greatly overestimate me," G'raha murmurs as he settles into your side to rest. "It seems that even now I can hardly be alone with you without ending up in your lap somehow."

"Not much has changed then, it seems."

He yawns again, silent, but you feel it against your skin. "Perhaps not." 

"You need to rest," you say reluctantly, but you're both worse for wear and if you don't retire soon, it'll be midday before you manage to roll out of bed again.

G'raha grows heavy against you as he succumbs to sleep. "Stay with me," he murmurs into your chest. His hand finds your tail where it curls around him, and he holds it ever so gently in an unspoken claim.

Not much has changed after all.

He is asleep before you can answer, but it doesn't matter. This time you will be there when he wakes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed it, please let me know with comments/kudos/shared tears over bestcatboy.
> 
> To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings from Jenova! Thanks to everyone for the generous feedback on the first part. I hope you enjoy this update :)

Time passes in the Exarch's private chamber, or perhaps it stands still. When you wake, the room glows the same serene blue that it had when you drifted off to sleep leaning back against the headboard with G'raha tucked soundly against your chest. Days or moments could have ticked by and you would be none the wiser. 

You burrow your head deeper into the pillow and indulge in a luxurious stretch, your limbs shaking and synapses firing as feeling seeps back into your body. At some point you must have given up any polite pretense of leaving in the night while G'raha slept, for now you find yourself reclined and nestled in a bundle of plush blankets. Your room at the Pendants is decadent for your rugged lifestyle, but it's nothing compared to these simple creature comforts in a dreamlike hideaway.

The arm draped lazily over your waist drags you in closer as G'raha whines, none too pleased at being roused by your stretching. He pulls the covers tighter around you and presses his head to the knob of your spine.

He never was one for mornings.

Neither of you speak a word. This is fragile, this twine of blankets and slowly waking breath, and you know that as soon as you rise, something will break. This taste of forgotten affection that the gods have cast to you will be reeled back in, and while that is what needs to happen, while you welcome the chance to see your friend step out into the light, you are also selfish. The possessive hand curled in your shirt says that you are not the only one.

His body is skin and stone, simmering heat against yours, and you cannot remember anyone ever holding you like this. Only him, snuggled up in your too-small tent, too close for friendship but out of reach of anything more. Only he had ever dared to acknowledge that the Warrior of Light needed to feel small sometimes. With him you could be weak in the most wonderful ways.

With him, you could be yourself.

G'raha's hand unfurls against your belly and you can hear the coarse fabric of your shirt hiss as fingers slither up your hip. He breathes in as he digs his nails, then releases both with a ragged exhale from his nose. Your blood sings hot in your veins.

The ghost of his touch is scalding.

He props himself up and dotes upon one of your ears- his standard '_good morning_' to you- then leaves you alone in the bed. Cool air rushes into the void his absence creates in the blankets. You delve deeper to chase the warmth, but you know you'll have to get up in a moment, even if it's the last thing on your mind.

A door closes and you hear the commonplace sounds of muffled morning rituals. It's eerie in its simplicity after the events of recent days. The sedate splash of water, the clink of glass and cabinets. You force yourself to sit up and rub the sleep from the inner corners of your eyes. Your body aches with cuts and bruises, but it has been a long time since you've felt this calm. His scent mingles with yours, thick and heady, and you indulge in the primal peace it brings.

G'raha returns, still looking rumpled in only his trousers, but his eyes are bright and rejuvenated as they take you in. The length of his hair is twisted back in it's usual braid, the rest falling free around his face. He offers you a goblet of water and you drink it down eagerly. You hadn't noticed how parched you'd become.

"I've left some water in the basin if you wish to freshen up," he says. "If you'll permit me to do so, I would see to your injuries before we break our fast."

You are fully capable of changing your own bandages, but you are not of the mind to deny him. "That would be appreciated. Thank you."

He does not touch you, but his gentle smile is a caress as he nods and leaves you to your business.

G'raha seems so small this way, at ease in his own domain, but you know better. Before you stands ice and flame and boundless knowledge that could crumble kingdoms. He is mighty, this boy become king but too humble to take up a crown. 

It is difficult to tear your eyes from G'raha's back as he busies himself with a medicine chest, the play of muscle under skin and the shimmer of crystal. The path the crystal carves up from his hip and down his right arm, up around his neck to his cheek, it makes you think of frost spreading over glass. It's mesmerizing. He is stunning, but the moment to say such things has passed. You will tell him another time.

You shove the bedding aside and clean up in the humble washroom. The splash of cool water on your face and the lavender scented soap fail to remove the smell of him that invades your senses, but you still feel somehow more level-headed than you did in the Exarch's bed.

It occurs to you as you open the door to rejoin him that you did in fact just spend the night, innocent as it was, and that you'll be leaving wearing the same sleep-wrinkled clothes you arrived in. 

Thancred will never allow you to hear the end of this, you think as you laugh to yourself. 

G'raha sits on the bed with an array of rolled bandages and containers bearing the Crystarium apothecary's seal. He lifts a curious eyebrow at you.

"I was just thinking."

"Oh? What of, might I ask?"

You crawl onto the bed and settle across from him. The cushion dips from your weight and the medical supplies pool into recess. 

"The Scions never saw me when you and I were acquainted. I was wondering what they'll think when they see us together more often now that night has returned."

G'raha's lip curls wryly. "They'll likely think you've taken leave of your senses."

"No, I don't think so. I imagine they'll probably be baffled to see me happy for a change."

He looks up from the spool of gauze he busies his fingers with. There's sweet surprise written on his face. He hadn't been expecting you to say that.

"So," you continue with enthusiasm, picking up one of the glass containers at random. "Who shall be the first victim?"

"I believe the honor is yours this time." He takes the vial from your hand. "Shirt off, if you please."

You comply, shrugging out of it. "What about the cut on my leg?" you ask with a playful lilt.

There's no use trying to hide G'raha's blush. He leans forward to unroll the soiled bandage from around your bicep. "If it can be reached by folding up your trouser leg, I should be happy to assist. Otherwise I would ask that you preserve your modesty."

With deft fingers untying the fastening knot below your knee, you gently bunch up the cotton, baring the bottom of your thigh. The bandage is stained with dried blood, and you peel it away to reveal an angry gash sewn together with a string of stitches. The remorse written on his face at the sight pains you more than your wounds.

"I could offer you my apologies a hundred times over and it would not even begin to atone for the suffering I have put you through."

"There is nothing to apologize for," you say. "You did what you must."

"I know. I do not regret my actions, only some of their consequences." G'raha opens a bottle and wets the tip of a cloth, which he then uses to cleanse the cut on your arm. "It does not make these any easier to behold. Were the decision mine to make, I would have you know only peace."

The healers' magic could only do so much for the marks left by the ire of an ancient evil. The worst of it responded to white magic, but you're still worse for wear. G'raha tends to your wounds with silent precision, his motions clinical yet reverent. There is penance in his touch, divinity in the delicate way he treats you like something precious.

He washes your cuts and applies a soothing gel before rewrapping them. This kindness is already enough to move you, but then you hear him open another container and a familiar decadent scent fills the air. Even without alchemical training, you would recognize the scent of camphor and mint oil anywhere. 

G'raha eases the balm over your bruises. You've been tended to, mended and patched up and tossed back onto the battlefield more times than you can count, but it had been a long time since you had felt truly cared for. You've been stitched up and slathered with enough disinfectant ointment over the past two days that you're sure for a speedy recovery to facilitate a hasty return to your next arduous obligations. You'd be no worse for wear without the icy tingle that numbs the mottled patches on your body, but it soothes a great deal of the ache you hadn't even acknowledged was there, you're so accustomed to hurting. Without practical purpose, G'raha takes your pain from you. It means more to you than you could have expected.

He moves to wipe his fingers on his trousers, but you reach out to interrupt his crystalline hand. You grab the discarded bath towel from the night before, tangled up in the bedsheets and still damp from G'raha's tail, and use the lingering moisture to clean the residual balm from his transformed skin. His eyes are curious watching yours, trying to glean your reaction as you touch the crystal that he is so at odds with.

Whatever G'raha finds, it brings a tender smile to the subtle curve of his lips. 

"Do you need another treatment on your back?" you ask as you set the towel aside.

"Not at this time. It works best only once daily with how potent some of the finer ingredients are. Though... if you do wish to offer your assistance again, these doors are always open to you." 

An ill-disguised invitation, a veiled request that you come back to him. It seems that he does not expect an answer, so you do not offer one. You like to think it isn't needed.

"Come. You must be famished," he says, passing your shirt to you. "Let us pay a visit to the kitchen."

The supplies scattered across the sheets are left in disarray. You wriggle back into your shirt as G'raha crosses the room to a small dresser. He opens it with a strange hesitance, and it occurs to you that you've only ever seen the Exarch wearing his one robe outside of this room. It seems absurd to think of it now, but the thought had never crossed your mind that in the course of a century, he might have obtained other articles of clothing.

"Your robe is still with the mender?" you ask. "I received my armor back yesterday evening before the party. Surely they prioritized your repairs as well."

"The enchantments require several days to complete. I prefer to perform them myself, but I have not yet regenerated enough magic to attempt such high level spellwork."

"I'm surprised you don't have a spare."

"This is not a problem I have encountered before." He casts you a look over his shoulder. "I do not make a habit of allowing Ascians to drain my mana."

The words are heavy, but you have both carried enough weight that it is said in jest. He smirks at you before returning his attention to sifting through his drawer.

"It's an inconvenience, to be certain," he continues. "I have yet to find another robe that conceals my tail so well."

"The eternal struggle of our kind," you muse. "Alterations for tail holes."

G'raha selects a garment from the dresser and lifts it for inspection. "I always was rather fond of this one. A shame I could not wear it once I set upon my course to bring you here." He stares at the billowing material for a long moment before sighing with an air of finality. "I suppose there is no need for such secrecy any longer."

From your seat on the edge of the bed, you watch as he slips his arms into the sleeves of the cloak, then buckles the series of clasps that climb an elegant chest piece that hugs his ribcage. There is an obvious arch in the back until the fabric settles, falling around either side of his swishing tail. He turns to present himself to you for approval.

The outer fabric of the robe is a regal crimson, detailed with heavy accents of gold and black. It clings to him in a way that taunts you, loose enough not to be bothersome but tight enough not to hinder movement. The sleek chest plate matches the pattern trimming the robe, a fierce swirl of gold and black with added white. A matching metal belt encircles his hips and holds the bottom folds of the robe in their open design, allowing his legs full range of movement. The hood pools loose around his shoulders, and he refrains from pulling it over his head.

Archer gear, that is the first thought in your mind, pure warrior instinct. You don't even need to ask. Your second thought is that you could spend the remainder of your days designing a piece of armor to represent this man, but you could never create anything that suited him so perfectly, body and spirit.

Your third thought finds voice of it's own volition.

"That looks beautiful on you."

G'raha's cheeks redden to rival his cloak. You feel no remorse. To say anything less would be a disservice both to him and to the craftsmanship on display. 

"It was a gift from my first command of soldiers back when the Crystarium was founded. They were eager for uniforms, and I offered to fund the commission if they saw to the rest. I was not aware they included me in their ranks when they placed the order. It was a most pleasant surprise."

"They knew you well," you remark, still admiring the detail and the man it adorns. "It's a work of art."

"I have always thought so. They were valiant men and women. It was an honor to lead them. I had not been certain if I could be the ruler everyone seemed to think me to be, but their loyalty gave me the courage to try." A reminiscent glint flickers in his eyes as he pulls at one of the sleeves. "I have the other pieces of the set as well, but full armor isn't suitable for a quiet meal."

You hold out your hand to him and he steps forward to take it. He stands over you, watching as you skim your fingers along the red fabric, over the raised metalwork of the belt.

"Will you be comfortable knowing that your tail is showing?" you ask, peering up at him.

"In truth, I honestly am not certain, but… there is no reason to hide anymore. It is a simple enough place to start."

"Yes, but simple doesn't make it easy."

"No. I had hoped to wear this again some day, though." G'raha falls victim to the moment and reaches out to scratch the hair at the base of your neck. "Knowing that you like it certainly helps as well."

You press into the delightful touch. "Don't let my opinion sway you."

G'raha's unchecked laughter is a sound you haven't heard in ages. 

"It is many years too late for that, my dearest friend," he says with such bright affection that you cannot help but wrap your arms around his waist. It's probably too much too early and the bottom edge of his chest plate is jabbing into your temple, but you can't be bothered to care when he cradles you against him.

"Besides," G'raha says, petting your hair, "if I am to visit my soldiers this evening, I find it a most appropriate selection of wardrobe."

"Duty calls already?"

"Not yet. I've arranged to bring a small feast to Fort Jobb in gratitude for those who were stationed at their posts last night and could not attend the celebration. It is no replacement for indulging in drink and dance, but I would like to give them something."

You hum against his middle, solid with muscle and scattered crystal. "Only a great leader remembers to thank his men once the battle has been won. You shouldn't doubt yourself."

G'raha steps back and tugs on your hand, coaxing you to your feet. "It is a habit I cannot shake. There is nothing wrong with a touch of humility. They may call me what they wish but I am still just an outcast from Islabard."

"So am I," you counter.

"Believe me, I could never forget such a remarkable thing."

Your stomach chooses that moment to growl as though you haven't eaten in days. He gives you an amused, knowing look.

"You said something about breakfast?" you ask.

Neither of you even bother slipping into your sandals before he leads you from the room. It seems like sacrilege to tread so casually through this Allagan wonder, but your perspective is a hundred years outdated. This tower is G'raha's home now, not some historic artifact. He cuts an imposing figure, a red silhouette against a shimmering fairytale backdrop of blue and gold. He is king in this castle, and if he wishes to take your hand and lead your barefoot though his halls, you are powerless but to follow wherever he might lead.

\---

The essence of blueberry and spice kisses the tip of your tongue as you sip the tea. It gives way to a more traditional earthy blend that still manages to retain a touch of sweetness.

"What do you think?" G'raha asks. He watches you over the rim of his own teacup. The last wisps of steam lick upward from the surface, finally cooled enough to drink.

"I'm normally not one for tea, but this is really quite good. You may make a convert of me yet."

G'raha laughs softly. "I would not count on it. Not with the way Cid plied you with coffee every morning."

"We're not all natural born scholars. Some of us needed a pick me up to hit the books every day." You take another sip from your cup and level him with a pointed look. "Or maybe it had something to do with someone keeping me up at all hours of the night raving about said books."

He has the grace to give you an embarrassed grin. You nudge his shin under the table with your foot.

"I'm not complaining. Caffeine dependency was a small price to pay for your company."

Turning his attention to the bowl of fruit between you to hide his pleased smile, G'raha plucks a grape from the bunch, rolling it between his fingers. "The merchant in Slitherbough who blends this tea also sells various concoctions of coffee beans they procure during their travels. Perhaps I should include some in my next purchase."

The implication behind his words does not escape you. There are more mornings like this ahead, if you would have them.

"Yes, I think that would be a sound decision."

G'raha pops the grape into his mouth and savors it before pushing his chair back from the table. "If you would indulge me, there is something else I would ask that you try. I made it myself."

"If it is anything like your sandwiches, you'll have trouble keeping me from eating the lot of it," you say, helping yourself to another handful of wildberries. The flavor bursts in your mouth, irresistibly tart and refreshing. 

"Sandwiches are not exactly a culinary feat. I can't help but feel your praise is exaggerated." G'raha crosses the room to a small box set out on the counter. "I had made this last week, but I found I didn't have the stomach to enjoy them with the looming battle. I took it out of the ice chest yesterday, so it should have thawed by now."

He unlatches the box and the scent hits your clever nose from across the room. You sit taller in your seat.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Not quite, I'm afraid, but it's the closest I've managed to come with my limited resources."

The dried strips of smoked fish on the tray he sets in front of you bring you back to your boyhood, saving every coin you found to treat yourself to the delicacies of the summer festival market. You and your fellow Miqo'te youth bypassed the stalls of sweets and sour candies that the immigrant Hyur and Elezen flocked to, making a beeline for the snack sized fish that you would stuff in your satchel to eat over the course of your day's mischievous adventures.

The wave of nostalgia has you speechless, but G'raha manages to interpret your excitement. "I had a craving, and it seems the Mystel don't follow the same customs we do back on the Source. I had to improvise."

The thin cut trout fillet is a mature interpretation of what you remember, but the flavor is nothing short of exquisite. "By the Twelve," you say with your mouth full, "I can't remember the last time I even thought about summer herrings. You even got the seasoning right. When did you learn how to cook? Last I remember you could hardly boil water for your tea. This is incredible."

"I'll remind you that I've had a lot of time on my hands." He gives you a look before taking a bite for himself. "Thank you, though. Truly. Tis a joy to share with someone who appreciates the thought behind it. I offered some to Lyna and she turned up her nose."

He mimics your earlier move and taps your leg where it perches on the rung of the chair. His toes are _cold_.

His crystal is warm, his toes are cold, there's a makeshift kitchenette in Syrcus Tower of all places- everything and nothing makes sense. Two days ago this man was the enigmatic Exarch, and now he's G'raha Tia, sharing with you a meal from your childhood that he wanted to taste one last time but couldn't bring himself to eat before he meant to sacrifice his life for yours.

You feel tears welling behind your eyes, but you keep them at bay, because they do not make sense either. You are happy enough to wonder when the other shoe will drop, but maybe you're past that. Maybe Amaurot was the other shoe, and the two of you are the broken mess left crushed under Hades' heel.

G'raha says your name with concern.

"I'm alright," you say, voice raw as you dig the heels of your palms into your eyes. "I'm more than alright, really."

He scoots his chair closer to yours and rests a hand on your uninjured knee.

"Forgive me for saying so, but you do not have me entirely convinced."

You laugh away the tears that threaten to fall. It has been so long since you parted in Eorzea, but it feels as though no time has passed at all. This is the man you had been falling for, and you will continue to fall until he is ready to catch you.

Footsteps approach from around the bend in the corridor. Lyna appears in the open doorway and seems relieved when she spots you.

"Warrior, there you are. I have been looking for--"

She stops in her tracks. You can see the exact moment when G'raha realizes he isn't concealed by his cowl. You feel it in the flinch of the hand on your leg. His eyes flare wide before pinching tight as he inhales sharply. Your hand finds his, lending him strength. Even after returning from the fight, G'raha was quick to cover his face as you crossed the bridge into the Crystarium.

He turns to meet the eyes of his ward for the first time, and you try your best not to feel like an intruder upon such a private moment.

Emotions war across Lyna's face. She takes in the sight of the Exarch, red irises ablaze, ears pinned back and tail alert. If it were not for the trail of crystal down his face and neck, you suspect she would question the identity of the man before her.

"Good morning, Lyna," he says, kind but tentative.

The familiar voice breaks her. A traitorous tear escapes the corner of her eye and she straightens, bringing her fist to her chest in a salute. "Good _afternoon_, my lord." Her voice is thick, but the Captain of the Guard does not fall victim to her feelings. "You missed both the breakfast and midday bells. I was beginning to worry after your well-being, but I see that you have been in good hands."

"I'm sorry to have worried you. It was not my intention."

"All is forgiven," she says in a tone you have not yet heard from her, and you can't help but feel they are decidedly not the words to a superior officer, but to a father. "There is just one thing I must ask of you, my lord, if I may be so bold."

G'raha's brow lifts. "Certainly. What is it?"

"Please do not cover your head if you do not need to. I cannot begin to imagine how your ears have pained you all this time."

There is such genuine concern in her words as her own towering ears swivel in sympathy. G'raha smiles at her.

"I promise. I have already decided that it is something I will be working towards in the coming days."

"That is good news." She studies him for another long, poignant moment before turning her attention towards you. "I trust the Exarch has informed you of this evening's plans. Will you be joining us?"

"I didn't receive an invitation, but I'll attend if I'm welcome."

Lyna makes a sound almost like a snort, hooking a hand on the hip of her cuirass. "Your invitation was delivered this morning to your rooms, just as the Scions' were delivered to theirs. Had I known you were not in residence, I would have saved my men the trip." 

You bow your head to hide your smirk. _Fair enough_. You deserved that.

"That said, if you should attend, the soldiers' morale would undoubtedly benefit from your presence. They will enjoy your company, just as surely as their commander will."

You could definitely get used to Lyna teasing G'raha. They certainly have enough time to make up for.

"I will be there," you say. "I should hate to miss it."

"Then I will pass on the word. I shall take my leave for now, gentlemen. My lord, I would remind you that you said you would assist with the preparations this afternoon?"

"I have not forgotten. I will see to it once our guest has eaten his fill and taken leave to attend to his own matters."

Lyna bows, proper as ever. She steps back through the open doorway but stills mid-stride, catching her hand on the wall.

"Warrior?" 

"Yes?"

There is a glimmer in her eye, a lift to the corner of her mouth suggesting mischief as she glances at your bare feet beneath the table. "Do not forget your shoes," she reminds you before continuing on her path.

Despite the torrent of revelations the past minutes have brought, G'raha is holding himself together rather impressively. The woman he raised to be the Captain of his soldiers has seen his face and caught him in an intimate scene with the Warrior of Darkness. For them both, it is surely a lot to unpack. 

Part of you wants to tell him that Thancred knows you were here last night, but you're afraid G'raha might combust. After all, he has known most of the Scions almost as long as you have by this point. 

One thing at a time. Moment by moment, all will make itself right.

You push the tray of fish in his direction. He shakes himself out of his daze and takes a piece. There is gratitude in his eyes. The guarded set of his tail relaxes, his ears twitching as the tension recedes.

His hand still rests upon your leg. You will be his strength as long as he needs it, just as he so easily voices the beautiful words you do not have the courage to speak. It is an idealistic thought, but you can't shake the notion that you are his missing piece, just as he is yours- two displaced outcasts become heroes from another Shard making their way in a world that had long forgotten their names.

The silence that falls between you is effortless. A busy afternoon awaits you both, but neither of you hurry. You look forward to the opportunity to celebrate the role that Fort Jobb's soldiers have played in the recent victory, and part of you thrills at the thought of standing among the crowd, watching G'raha at the forefront as he addresses them in full uniform, but that can wait.

For now, this silence is too sweet not to savor, and together you linger just a bit longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued! As always, let me know if you enjoyed :3
> 
> (Just a note in case anyone wonders, I know Raha had his cowl down in the credits scene when they return to the Crystarium. I just.... Hnnngg creative liberties for story purposes/ I would think after hiding for so long he wouldn't be comfortable changing his ways so fully so suddenly?)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Annnnd we finally leave the crystal tower. Brief mention of samurai WoL here, merely for the purposes of a bit of imagery. I like to think the WoL is like all of us and has a full arsenal to choose from, so no weapon judgement here :) This is a long one, so I'm sorry if I missed any mistakes.

The amaro trills as it's harness jolts, jumping under the sudden strain of another crate the market delivery man drops into the cart. The twins crouch in the back of the uncovered wagon, arranging the boxes into a more sensible fashion. You can't help but wonder why the smallest of your friends were put to the task of heavy lifting, but knowing Thancred, he was likely still feeling the effects of last night. Y'shtola and Urianger had gone ahead to the fort to complete the initial set up, so they were forgiven on that account.

You shush the amaro, scratching the feathery tuft under her chin. The beast coos and tilts its head to give you greater access.

"It's alright, girl. I know this isn't any fun." With your gauntlets on, you cannot feel the feathers as you stroke between the amaro's horns, but you know just how soft they are. When you first arrived on this Shard, you found these creatures to be a bizarre imitation of the chocobos you knew, but the sentient amaro of Il Mheg quickly removed you of that opinion. These beings are more loyal and loving than man can ever hope to be.

The stocky Midlander hands you a clipboard and quill to sign off on the delivery of decadent pastries. You scrawl your signature. It looks foreign to your own eyes. Formal merchant transactions are a far cry from the bloody business your life has been in recent memory.

"Is that the last of it?" you ask, slipping the quill securely under the metal clip and handing the invoice back to him.

"Just the ale and spirits, then that'll be the last of it. My apprentice will have it out posthaste, my lord."

The honorific makes your skin prickle, but you let it go. You expect it won't be the last you hear it tonight.

"What?" Alisaie barks from inside the wagon. "You're joking, surely? Yes, let's bring out the heavy fragile items last, that is a sound decision. We'll set them atop the dessert and hope for the best."

"Perhaps we'll have turned the tarts into shortcakes by the time we're through," Alphinaud jokes. His sister gives an exasperated sigh and smacks him upside the head.

_Siblings._

"Thank you for your assistance, sir," you say to the man as you offer a small stack of coins for his trouble. He tips his hat to you and pockets the gil before grabbing his own amaro's reins to saunter back off to the market.

Your hired steed chirps in distress at her stablemate's departure. You pat the great bird's neck and appease her with an offered strawberry from your pocket, pilfered from G'raha's fruit bowl. The amaro flaps happily as she eats it from your palm.

Ardbert's feathered friend Seto comes to mind, and you feel a pang of guilt. You hope your chocobo is content under Tataru's care, and you make a mental note to bring a feed bag brimming with fresh berries from Rak'tika when you return to the Source. Your loyal mount deserves a treat for his patience.

Your linkpearl chimes. You wipe the slobber from your gauntlet onto the amaro's saddle before bringing your hand to your ear.

_"Where have you three gotten to? My note says to meet you at the gate,"_ a noticeably surly Thancred asks through the connection.

"The Exarch Gate?"

_"Ah, now that clarification would have been appreciated in my initial summons. Information is key, after all."_

"It sounds like you had a good time last night," you joke. From what Alphinaud told you, Thancred failed to take size into account in his determination to go drink for drink with Urianger. The Elezen has height on his side, and no small amount of muscle despite his mage's mind. You almost wish you could have been there to witness the spectacle.

_"Mind your words, my friend. I might say the same of you."_

You turn to face away from the twins to hide any traitorous color that might spring to your cheeks. "You might, but not in the way you're implying."

_"No, I wouldn't imagine so. Not even the Warrior of Light and Darkness would be able to put on much of a performance in that sorry state. You look like you've been trampled by a marid."_

A laugh escapes you as you counter, "Oh, and you look any better?"

_"I'm not the one trying to get the Exarch into my bed."_

You and Thancred have always been prone to banter being the worldly men you are, so his goad doesn't get to you. What has your jaw dropping is that he just said that phrase in the open air of the Crystarium where any of its citizens could have overheard. 

"I am not--" You turn to look at the twins who are luckily distracted as they attempt to make room for the incoming bottle delivery.

_"Not yet."_

"--having this conversation right now."

_"Oh, but we are having it later. I air out all of my dirty laundry for you, and you can't even be bothered to share that you're sweet on someone we’ve both known for ages?"_ Thancred's voice becomes oddly serious. _"I've always found it strange these past five years that he speaks of you with such ardor. I never expected there was more to the tale. I was dragged to this Shard on your account, so I believe you owe me a drink and some details."_

"Another time."

The connection suddenly zaps and dissipates. Thancred's voice rings further away, echoing across the square.

"Oh Hells, this is absurd. That's for Fort Jobb, yes? Give me that."

A frail-looking Mystel boy strains to haul a hefty pull cart along the path until Thancred all but grabs the handles from him. The boy scampers to keep up as Thancred's impatience triples the cart's pace.

Your friend should not be allowed anywhere near children after a night of drinking.

"I'm so sorry Mister Warrior, sir! I was doing my best, I swear. I didn't mean to keep you waiting. Please don't tell my master I was late!" 

Alisaie pokes her head up from the cart, scandalized to see the small boy. "That man sent you with the bottles without an amaro? What an ogre!"

"How noble," Alphinaud drones. "Bringing the lighter load himself and leaving the hard work for his apprentice."

The packed bottles jostle and clink merrily as Thancred sets the posts of the pull cart on the stone. To his credit, he doesn't hesitate to hoist a crate and walk it over to the wagon.

You find the written order in the cart and hastily scribble your sad excuse for a signature. Tossing the clipboard back, you crouch down so that you are at eye level with the Mystel, who can't be more than eight or nine years old, by the looks of it.

"You're working already, lad? That's admirable of you."

The boy nods rapidly, indigo tail tucked between his legs. "Yes, milord. For my family."

The words are few, but they say enough. A parent lost to the light, to the claws of the sin eaters, more likely than not. Perhaps starved begging for meol outside of Eulmore in the hopes they could find a better home for their loved ones. You've heard the tale told more times than you could say, but it still rends your heart anew to see the suffering left behind. People are rejoicing, but there are still trying times ahead.

You put your hand to the boy's arm and offer him an encouraging smile. "I'm sure they're proud of you. Don't let your master break your spirits."

The boy's eyes redden, but he stays strong, refusing to show his tears to a hero. "I won't, sir."

"Good." Among the handful of fruit you took from the tower, you also saved the last of the dried trout. You are nothing if not a hungry creature of habit. You managed to abstain from your afternoon snack until now, even surviving a change into your informal armor, but now you realize the fates were saving that last piece for someone else.

"Here. You've earned yourself a treat, I think." You place the fish in his hand, rubbed raw from the wooden cart handles. "You'll like it, I promise. The Exarch made it himself."

The boy's eyes go wide as saucers. "The Exarch? Really?"

"Really. It's one of his favorites."

An excited grin stretches across the boy's face, his ears flicking once with sudden restless energy. "Thank you very much, sir. I will save this for after my shift so I can share it with my sister. She wants to be just like him when she grows up."

It warms you to hear that G'raha has managed to inspire the children under his rule. You wonder if he knows of his people's regard for him, or if he had been blinded to it by the flood of light.

"And what about you?"

"I want to be a soldier, just like my papa was."

There it is. Your suspicions were accurate, but that doesn't make it any less tragic. The people of Norvrandt are no strangers to loss. It has made them resilient. They have survived unimaginable odds, and you know this boy will not be an exception. 

"Aye, I think that's the best choice." You squeeze the boy's arm before letting your hand fall back to your knee. "Run along now. I wouldn't have that old grump give you another tongue-lashing. I'll make sure to report what a fine job you did."

The Mystel chokes out another grateful _'thank you, sir_," and hurries off with the empty cart. His speed is remarkable when not burdened with a platoon's worth of alcohol rations. He'll be just fine, you think. The years will make a soldier of him yet.

Your aching legs protest when you straighten them. Behind you, Alphinaud and Alisaie have been ousted from the cart, leaving Thancred to safely pack away the precious cargo.

There is bitter sadness in Alisaie's eyes as she watches the boy's retreating figure. She has seen the effects of the sin eaters firsthand. Tesleen, the little Au'Ra boy, and likely countless others in her short year in the First. The other Scions often call her cold, but you know she is a realist. She doesn't want any words of kindness to ease the heartache that is all too prevalent in this world.

Alphinaud is the one to break the silence with a lighthearted comment. "I wasn't aware you were meeting the Exarch for lunch. How does he fare?"

You hear Thancred snort from inside the cart.

"He is healing slowly, but well. Summoning the other warriors from beyond the rift did a number on his mana, not to mention whatever Emet Selch did before we found him. You'll see for yourself. He will be there this evening."

Alphinaud hums in approval, punctuating it with a nod. "It will be good to see him. Tis a shame he could not join us last night."

"Says Eulmore's rising young artist who escaped the battle mostly unscathed." Alisaie levels her brother with a sidelong glance. "If it were you in his shoes, you would be out cold for a week. Don't begrudge the man his rest. Even our friend here retired early from the festivities."

"I was not suggesting the Exarch didn't earn a good night’s sleep," Alphinaud defends. "I merely mean to say that he is an honored guest, as it were. None of this would have been possible without the groundwork he laid to bring us here."

Thancred slides down from the back of the wagon and latches the door. He pulls on the handle for good measure to ensure it is safely in place. "You pull off a summoning like that and then you can ask the Exarch why he's tired, Mister Carbuncle. In the meantime, you can pour a drink for our feline friend tonight. Both of them, at that." He claps you on the shoulder. "Everything is tied down and ready to go."

You rub the amaro's flank and click your tongue. The beast turns to you with a curious chirp. "You hear that, girl? Time to head out." She cocks her head to the side and you trill back at her, much as you always play talk with your chocobo when he gets noisy on the road. To your delight, the amaro flaps her wings and stretches out her neck for a happy call that sounds suspiciously like a '_kweh'._

Seems like you might have made a new friend, you think, as you reward the bird with another chin scratching before you grab the reins with a slight tug. You might have to talk to the amarokeep and see how to go about getting a license.

"Luckily it's a short walk," Alphinaud notes as your group sets off through the gate.

"Yes, and then we get to unpack it all again!" Alisaie cheers with forced enthusiasm. 

You almost make a remark about this being much like all of the other errands you've conquered as a team over the years, but you decide to keep your comments to yourself. The sound of your friends joking together instead of devising plans to save the world is a novelty you wish to enjoy while you have the chance. It isn't often you're together when the fabric of the stars isn't unraveling. 

Step by step you match pace with the amaro, listening to the Scions' laughter and the melodic trundle of wheels on the wooden bridge.

\---

Fort Jobb has never seemed so alive.

The soldiers have abandoned their posts to gather in the main square, flocking to the tables that ring the aetheryte on its raised dais. The crystal stands proud at the center of the celebration, spinning with an otherworldly hum that you know all too well. Syrcus Tower echoes it's majesty in the distance, shining in the light of the sun.

The dilapidated walls seem a little less damaged, the grim faces of the soldiers lit with smiles for the first time since you've known them.

Y'shtola managed to convince the crowd to politely refrain from eating until the Exarch and the Captain arrived, but nothing could stop them from cracking open the ale and mead. There was debate over how wise it was to allow the soldiers to indulge, but you decreed that there was no harm in a couple of drinks- the sin eaters were no more, and no wandering rebels would dare attack the fort when the Warrior of Darkness was around.

It was more arrogant than you preferred to make yourself out to be, but the resounding cheers erased any doubts from your mind.

You lounge beside the aetheryte and endure typical small talk with an Elezen dragoon. You think he introduced himself as Fernwren, but you've met so many soldiers in the past hour and they've all lauded you with the same idolizing nonsense, it's become hard to keep track of names. His rosy cheeks lift in a smile as the paladin to your left refills both of your goblets.

Offering your thanks, you take a slow sip. The metal is hot on your lips, heated by the summer sun, but the mead is a blissful burn, dry but fruity and soothing all the way down to your core. Some of the soldiers are giddy already, but you aren't out to overdo it. A couple glasses is enough to warm you from within and quiet your nerves without dulling your sharpened senses.

A burly Hrothgar gives a mighty roar and cries, "Oy lads, the Captain's here!"

The crowd erupts in a tumult of noise at the sight of Lyna approaching on the back of an amaro. Apparently they don't recognize the man on the beast behind her, wrapped in crimson robes.

Lieutenant Chathwick meets the new arrivals at the entrance between the twin torches. Lyna allows him to help her down from her mount. Part of you prickles to see G'raha dismount without an offered hand, but the red figure with an even redder tail is a far cry from the Exarch these soldiers know to answer to.

You begin to push yourself to your feet, but the sight of him stills your breath and body both, leaving you motionless. He was beautiful in the robe, but all logical thought fizzles out at the sight of the full ensemble. The boots are a perfect match, red climbing to just below the knee where they fold over into a black cuff, trimmed with the same trio of black, gold, and white. Black fingerless gloves shield his forearms and shine at the edges with the same design where they flare open to the elbow. You try not to dwell on how well the black trousers meld to his thighs, but you fail spectacularly. 

G'raha Tia the scholarly archer has come a long way from his dented gorget and weathered armor lined with coeurl fur.

G'raha Tia the Crystal Exarch… you have no words. You barely have your feet under you when you gather your senses enough to stand.

"Pardon me, gentlemen," you say, taking your leave from the hovering soldiers. 

The Lieutenant finally seems to recognize the Exarch, crystal visible on his neck and cheek. His hood is up, but this one doesn't reach as far, still hiding his eyes but allowing the white tips of his fringe to show. You feel bad for Chathwick, momentarily dumbfounded and sputtering apologies before he manages to collect himself. G'raha's tail sways in slow metronome, and you know his tells well enough to read his warring anxiety and amusement.

This can't be easy for him, you think as you approach.

_"Captain Lyna and the Crystal Exarch have arrived!" _ the Lieutenant announces with his booming voice before seeing to the two amaro.

The fort rejoices at the arrival of its beloved leaders. Most of the soldiers are level-headed enough not rush them in greeting. You make it to G'raha's side before any of the others, and it seems your presence there keeps the questions at bay.

You know you should think better of it, but you pull him into a half-embrace, still holding your mead with your free hand. G'raha returns your affection, though releasing you quicker than either of you would prefer. At least for now, there are some appearances to maintain.

"Is everything alright?" you ask of his tardiness as you fall into step at his side.

"Quite alright, yes. I had an unexpected visitor from Eulmore. Their acting ruler in Vauthry's absence sent a representative to arrange a diplomatic meeting between the two of us. The city wishes to solicit our aid in rebuilding it's government, and would like to begin talks of reestablishing the trade routes of old."

"Already? That is great to hear."

"It's spectacular," G'raha agrees with fervor. "It was my expectation that repairing relations with Eulmore would be one of our largest hurdles, but to have them make first contact is more than I could have asked for."

Even you can feel the wandering eyes following G'raha as you approach the group surrounding the aetheryte. You wish to stay at his side, but as the Warrior of Darkness, you cannot crowd him for long. Duty pulls you apart, but before he's summoned over to Lyna and a cluster of mages, you lean close to his hooded ear.

"I'm proud of you, Raha," you whisper, and it is the truest thing you know. For his sacrifice to the tower, for his efforts to save Norvrandt and the city of loyal men he has built around him. For showing his tail freely after a century in shadow.

You cannot see his eyes beneath the hood, but the subtle curve of his mouth hints of adoration. He is radiant in the light of your praise.

G'raha takes his leave to mingle, and you find yourself drifting towards the Scions and a small group of archers who are politely refraining from smothering their commander.

"About that drink?" Thancred raises an eyebrow in your direction. Of course he had been watching you. Urianger gives him a puzzled look, but you don't address your friends. Instead, you turn to the archers. 

"Forgive me, gentlemen, but I must have a private word with my companions. Might we have just a moment?"

They offer unnecessary apologies and diffuse with the utmost decorum. You grab a bottle of ale from the nearby table and toss it unceremoniously to Thancred as you sit among the Scions. Everyone else is out of earshot, either keeping their distance or grouping around G'raha and Lyna near the merchant canopies, eager to see and learn this new side of the Exarch.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, pulling at your Seeker arrows. You forget if the nervous tick is one of yours that rubbed off on G'raha, or if he is the one that gave it to you.

Now is a good of a time as ever. 

"I believe I owe you all an explanation. Not as a Scion, or as the Warrior, but as your friend. Thancred has rightly developed his suspicions, and I would not keep it a secret from the rest of you."

You do not tell them everything, but you tell them enough. You retell the saga of the crystal tower in bullet points, this time painting G'raha as your cherished friend, not a scholarly martyr. Excavations become shared adventures. A brave goodbye becomes a broken promise and a wounded heart. You tell them how you didn't know it was him until you were about to lose him again, and how terrified you were when you heard the gunshot at the top of Mt. Gulg.

You do not tell them the rest, because you do not have to. The Scions know you better than you know yourself, certainly well enough to fill in the blanks.

"I only ask that you let it be for now. I hardly know myself where things stand, so please. Do not make a fuss. Do not trouble him about this. I only wished for you to know after everything we've all been through together. You're the closest thing I've had to a family. I would rather you hear it from my mouth than from whispered rumors."

Your companions are silent for a long moment. Picking your gaze up from the stone, you meet Y'shtola's clouded eyes. She is studying you in that way of hers that still unsettles you, seeing yet unseeing. 

"You never spoke of this," Alphinaud notes in a serious tone.

"It was easier not to," you admit. 

"Tis difficult to speaketh on the loss of that which was nearly but never truly thine." Urianger regards you from over his folded hands, elbows propped on his knees. His yellow stare still unsettles you even after all this time in the First after abandoning his headgear and goggles.

Not for the first time, you wonder about all of the things your reticent friend has never spoken of. He is a mystery unto all of you that you are just beginning to solve.

"Here." Thancred passes you the bottle and you take a generous swig. Although you appreciate the gesture, you hand it back to him.

Y'shtola fiddles with one of her feathered earrings, twirling her finger absently. "You sound like a different person when you speak of him. You're smitten," she says in her calm, collected manner, though with a touch of humor. "And here I was beginning to think you had no interest in romantic matters." 

Thancred gives a short laugh. "So, the hero has a pulse after all. Just don't mess it up this time, aye?"

Alisaie scoffs, stretching to kick Thancred's shin with her boot. "You say that as if either of them had a say in the matter. How can you be so heartless?"

"Oh, is someone developing softer tendencies of her own?" Alphinaud elbows his sister.

"Absolutely not!" she cries in protest. "It merely isn't right to cast judgement where the fates clearly left no room for intervention."

"Well I do believe the two in question recently sent fate scurrying with her tail between her legs.” Thancred says your name, meeting your eyes. "I know this may be difficult to hear, but you do not exist solely for the benefit of others. If anyone has earned the right to be a bit selfish, it's you and your friend that has waited for a bloody century and is still daft enough to want you by his side."

"I think we are all in agreement on that," Y'shtola says.

"Indeed," Alphinaud concurs as Urianger says, "Tis true."

A peculiar warmth bubbles in your chest. You have to bow your head a moment to collect yourself. They have stood beside you through countless trying times in perilous strife. You aren't certain why you ever doubted that they would support you in the calm after the storm.

"Thank you for your understanding.” You lift your eyes to meet each of the Scions in turn. Your found family, at your side in darkness and in light. 

"Enough of that. This is too melancholy for my taste tonight." Alisaie bumps your shoulder with hers from her place beside you. "Go on. You've been stuck with us long enough. The hero should be making the rounds, don't you think? Besides, it would seem that the Exarch has dressed up for you. It would be a shame to keep him waiting even longer than he already has."

Family can always be counted on, especially to give you grief when you finally find something to smile about.

You let out an exaggerated sigh as you stand. Alphinaud laughs at your expense. "What? You said not to trouble the Exarch. That doesn't mean you're getting off so easily."

"Nothing is ever easy with you lot," you say with sarcastic fondness as you take your leave. They chatter in your wake, but you try not to dwell on it. This is more or less what you expected from them after the initial shock set in that you are in fact a living breathing man with a heart that beats just like anyone else's.

Trays of food steam as they heat over flame, filling the air with the most enticing smells. Dinner will be served soon, and the soldiers are more than ready for the main event, swarming around the tables while attempting to seem uninterested. You don't blame them. If the fare is anything like what was served to the citizens the night before, they're about to have one of the best meals of their lives.

Lyna greets your approach with a subtle bow. Officers and soldiers alike cluster around her and G'raha, a communal circle of informal conversation. 

Riqi-Mao, another of Lyna's lieutenants, folds her hands timidly at her waist. You have met her in passing, a quiet Mystel warrior always at the table studying maps and battle plans. "My lord Exarch, if you may permit me, there is a question I wish to ask of you," she says with a poorly concealed tremor. Her resolve seems to have been shaken by the unexpected revelation that her commander has a tail just as she does.

G'raha turns to her. He catches sight of you, but he keeps his attention on Riqi-Mao. "But of course, Lieutenant. What is it?"

"Your armor," she says, "tis the same as that which the first troop of archers from the fort once wore, is it not? My great grandmother… I found a similar suit of armor among her belongings after she passed."

"You are correct." If you could see G'raha's eyes, you imagine they would be clouded by memory, for his words sound far away, recalling a time long past. "Kura-Naal was a fine lancer when she enlisted, but she would not rest until I taught her the bow. She took to the discipline like she was born for nothing else. Twas no surprise she was one of my first officers. It seems the talent for leadership is in your blood, my friend."

Her ears flick back, eyes widening. "You're an archer, my lord?"

"Nearly a bard, in fact, but my studies carried me elsewhere."

"If I may be so bold as to say so, it would be a great honor if you would join us for target practice. I believe I speak for all of us here at the fort when I say it would be a joy to raise my bow beside you."

The dragoon across from you claps his fist into his palm. "Aye, sir. If you could spare the time, the troops would be beside themselves. It would be a training session to remember, that is certain."

G'raha laughs, regarding them with a mild wince. "It has been an age since I last nocked an arrow. I fear my talents are not what they once were."

Unable to remain silent any longer, you place your hand on his shoulder before forcing it to the hilt of your katana where it cannot possibly betray you. "Oh, come now. A bit of sport cannot do any harm. I myself haven't lifted a bow in years either." _Since the last time you and G'raha perched on the cliffs of St. Coinach's Find, taking aim at pesky hippogryphs to pass the time. _"Perhaps I could join in the fun as well?"

"Would you, my lord?" Riqi-Mao asks in mesmerized disbelief, her hands folding together at her chest.

"If the Exarch will not mind my intrusion." 

You want to rip the hood from G'raha's head so you can see his full expression. To be deprived of both his gaze and touch is almost more than you can stand, but you persevere. Your hand worries the hilt of your sword, your palm pressed almost painfully into the intricate pommel.

It is cruel that all you can see of him is the set of his mouth, full lips lifted at a curious angle. It pains you that you cannot remember how they taste.

"It would be no intrusion at all,” G’raha says. “I believe you have enlisted two new members for your drills, Lieutenant. I would only ask that our invitation await the full recovery of both myself and our guest. The past days have taken the fight from us, I'm afraid."

The dragoon, Meranth, dismissively waves his hand. "But of course, sir. You are always welcome to join us at your leisure. To have a visit from either you or the Warrior of Darkness is a singular treat, but the fort would rejoice at having you both in residence for our practice. I myself can hardly wait for the opportunity."

Lyna inclines her head towards G'raha in deference. "Then it is settled. I shall coordinate the event once everyone has healed from the recent trials. Is that agreeable to you, my lord?"

"Certainly. I only hope my skills have not rusted too greatly since I last lifted my bow."

You eye the golden staff at G'raha's back. The crystal embedded in the center beams brightly in the early evening light. "Well, if the archers grow too confident we can always let you loose upon the mages. That would reinstill the fear of the Gods in them."

Lyna folds her arms across her chest in a way that would have her subordinates trembling in their boots. "I would like to maintain our current levels of morale, not send the recruits running for the forest."

"Please, there is no need to exaggerate." G'raha rubs the back of his neck over his hood. "At any rate, you have all waited long enough indulging me. I would not keep you from your meal any longer."

"A meal that you have provided for us," Lieutenant Chathwick says matter-of-factly as he approaches. He stands proudly in his polished armor, hand poised on the broadsword at his belt. "I have been informed that everything is indeed ready, but we are wont to partake of your generosity without first hearing a few words from you, my lord."

A murmur of agreement rises. G'raha bows his head and sighs. When he lifts his head, a smirk cuts into the crystal on his cheek. "You know I find no favor in the impersonal nature of speeches."

"Exarch," you say, and he turns to you, already unused to hearing that name from your lips. "Favor or not, there will never be another victory such as this. You have earned this moment. All of you have."

G'raha regards you before surveying the faces of his soldiers that have gathered close, spanning from where you stand at the merchant tables back to the aetheryte. He is smaller in stature than most of the other men around you, but his powerful presence draws all eyes to him like moths to flame. There is no doubt in your mind that he is a revered leader, that they have followed and would continue to follow him into battle with their heads held high no matter what the cost.

Removing the staff from his back, G'raha lifts it above his head like a beacon as he calls out, "Everyone, I ask just a moment of your time." 

Lyna gives a sharp whistle for emphasis as G'raha steps to the forefront, facing the gathering awaiting his words. You fall back into the crowd, finding your place beside your companions.

"It is no secret that I prefer to address you as the individuals that you are, rather than bore you with encouraging blanket platitudes that have little worth at all. But I suppose if I am to speak tonight, the words I have for each of you would be more or less the same. I have had the honor of knowing most of you for the duration of your careers, some of you all of your lives. I have watched you grow from children of soldiers into formidable warriors of your own. Generations have passed, years upon years have been lost to the cold light of the flood. Each of you that stands before me now has known untold loss, and though night has at last returned to our skies, those that have fallen will never see it's stars. That which has been lost cannot be regained.

"I know that it may be tempting to discount your worth in the wake of the Warrior of Darkness, but I beg of you, please cast aside any such thoughts. It is because of your efforts that the men, women, and children beyond these walls still live. Each of you, and each of your comrades that have come before you, have dedicated yourselves to ensuring that mankind has endured the horrors of the sin eaters. You have been our guardians, and for that, you have my deepest and eternal gratitude."

G'raha's fist tightens on his staff, and his voice swells with the unrivaled passion you have come to know from the Crystal Exarch. "As long as I draw breath, your courage will not be questioned. I would know your bravery in life and death, and the darkness between. Our hardest days are behind us, but I pray that you will continue to stand with me in the challenging days ahead. We have reclaimed the night and the lands beneath it, but now we must rebuild.

"Those days stand before us, but for now, this night is yours. Rejoice in that which you have bled and battled for, as it has been won. I have asked so much of you in recent times, but there is one more request I must make of you this evening." G'raha lifts his staff in a sweeping motion, both in command and warmest welcome. "Turn your faces towards the sun, to the rays of new light which will guide us from this day forward. Raise your glasses-" he grins as the awed, respectful hush becomes a clamor of cheers and whistling- "and join me in a toast."

You find your half-empty helping of mead on the table beside you. Pewter goblets and sturdy mugs fill the air, and G'raha's laugh is infectious as Lyna saunters forward to hand him a glass of his own.

"One cannot lead a toast without a drink of their own," she chastises before retaking her place at the sidelines. G'raha holds his staff across his chest and offers her an apologetic bow that his smile betrays.

The Exarch raises his glass before him and declares, "To new light."

A booming chorus echoes in answer. You take a slow, small sip from your mead, not for a second taking your eyes from G'raha. He watches the scene before him with evident pride, only drinking from his red wine after the soldiers have clinked their cups.

"Dinner is served, my friends," he shouts over the joyous commotion. "Enjoy!"

Nearly every soul in the fort crowds around the delectable feast, the Scions included. Y'shtola touches your arm before she follows after the twins. She offers you no words, but her serene smile speaks volumes.

You wait for him to come to you. He does without hesitation. 

"That was not the speech of a man who doubts his ability to lead. They adore you."

G'raha stands at your side as you both watch plates being heaped with mouth-watering cuisine from the Crystarium's finest culinarians. "This was never something I wanted for myself, but once I found that there was no way of accomplishing my goals without embracing my role as leader of this city, I knew I could not approach it in a traditional sense. I was one of them, in the beginning. I drew my bowstring with the rest. I suppose I never grew out of believing I stand beside them, not before them."

"Others would benefit from your example. What you have built here is incredible."

"Lead as one you would wish to follow.”

You hold your goblet out to him. He lightly touches his glass to the pewter. 

"What shall we drink to?" you ask.

"I am unsure.” Although you can only see his mouth, you can sense that he is watching you intensely. "What do you suggest?"

The wine in his glass ripples. He is still, barely even breathing as he awaits your response.

"To second chances. To the promises we made at Silvertear Lake."

"Both spoken and unspoken," G'raha adds. 

"Yes," you agree. Your voice is rougher than you intend, heavy with memory and restrained longing. "I cannot think of anything better."

He drinks deeply from his glass, and you finish the last sip of your mead.

"Do you wish to eat?" G'raha asks of you. He takes your empty cups and deposits them on a nearby table. "There is plenty for everyone, if you would like to partake."

You shake your head. "I am still full from our late breakfast. Later, possibly."

"I am as well." He studies the crowd, still largely gathered around the feast. His gaze follows the length of the fort, as if considering something. The bottom of his staff scratches the stone.

"What is it?"

"There is something I wish to do, preferably before nightfall. Would you care to join me for a walk? I admit, I find that I am quite greedy for your company, if you wish to offer it."

The thought of abandoning a party where you are an honored guest doesn't sit well with you, but you cannot say no to shrugging off the stifling formality the setting has forced between the two of you. You feel smothered.

"Lead the way," you say, extending your arm toward the torches that mark the entrance to the fort. "We'll sneak out while everyone is busy stuffing their faces."

G'raha laughs. "Yes, that was the idea."

Side by side you pass through the towering pillars. He makes to follow the trail leading into the Forest of the Lost Shepherd, but you take his arm, pulling him around the side of the fort where the amaro are grazing freely, content to wait until their riders are ready to depart.

"We aren't going far," G'raha protests, but you do not still your stride.

"You're putting weight on your staff as you walk. I won't have you hurting if I can help somehow." 

You feel him sigh rather than hear it.

"I suppose I should know better than to hope you wouldn't notice."

The amaro that pulled your wagon in seems to be on the verge of sleep, a delightful puff of feathers nestled in the lavender grass. You leave her be and tug on the reins of G'raha's mount. The beast looks up at you with an annoyed trill, but it chirps when it sees it's master. G'raha rewards it with a pat on the side of its neck.

"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid we've come to interrupt your rest.” The amaro bends to kneel in the grass, sitting tall and proper to allow them optimal room to climb into the saddle. 

You take G'raha's staff and offer your other hand to help him up. Once he is seated, you hop up to settle in behind him. It's a tight fit in the saddle, not meant for two passengers, but the amaro doesn't protest the added weight. You hold G'raha around his middle, his staff low at your side. He shifts and pulls his tail so that it rests in a more comfortable position tucked between your thighs.

"Better?" you ask against his hood. He turns as if to look at you, and you feel the shape of his ear shift under the material. You nuzzle it with your cheek and he presses back into the touch. The mead has given you an added dose of courage, so you nip at him through the fabric, gently taking his covered ear between your teeth. 

G'raha hums happily in his throat. You feel the sound in your own chest where he leans into you, and you cannot remember the last time you were this happy. This effortless closeness is what you crave, the rare gift of touching and being touched without pretense or expectation of more. 

Flicking the reins, G'raha clicks his tongue and murmurs something that sounds akin to the fae language you've heard spoken in snippets. The beast caws and rises on its feet like you two grown men are only kits, then G'raha leads you into the forest at a merry trot.

You are quiet during the short ride, listening to the sounds of the mighty bird's talons on the well-travelled road and the rustle of the wind caressing the purple leaves of the canopy above you. It is so peaceful, this forest. When you first arrived on this Shard it felt like a pastel dreamscape, too gorgeous to host the living hell you were soon to discover.

G'raha seems to spot what he is looking for. He guides the amaro off the beaten path beyond an unruly thicket. You have to duck to avoid wayward branches, but your detour opens up into a well-lit clearing on the edge of a hill, overlooking a slope of wildflowers that sweeps downward towards the lakeshore. Duty has dragged you back and forth across these lands time and time again, but this remote meadow has managed to escape you. 

"I suppose based on our destination we won't be meeting with any more Eulmoran diplomats," you say as G'raha slows the amaro to a halt. Your hold on his waist tightens as the bird rears up with a steadying flap of it's gray wings. He says an intriguing command in fae which causes the amaro to settle down into the grass.

"No, nothing so noble. I'm afraid my motives are much simpler."

You dismount and extend your hand to G'raha to help him do the same. He is fatigued, offering no objection to your assistance. The contrast of the leather glove covering his palm and the warm crystal of his fingers intrigues you.

Feet soundly back on solid ground, you don't expect it when he releases your hand and steps out into the meadow, looking out over the sea of purple flora and the calm waters beyond. You set your sword and his staff down and follow a few steps behind, allowing him space. 

"I have always mourned the fact that today's people of this Shard have never known the sun, but more selfishly, I also envied their ignorance, in some sense. They never had cause to miss it."

G'raha lifts his hands to draw back his hood. His eyes flutter closed as he turns his face skyward, chasing the blessed light of the cloudless summer sky.

"For so long I have yearned to feel the sun," he says quietly, voice thick with longing and unbridled joy. "I never expected I would know it's warmth again."

You would endure the agony of absorbing the light, you would strike down the Lightwardens time and time again, if only to give him this.

The light catches the crystal climbing his cheek and trails down his neck, shining with brilliance.

You cannot bring yourself to interrupt him, so you lower yourself to the grass at his side. The sultry breeze is intoxicating. The light kisses your face and you drink up the warmth, unwilling and unable to forsake your tribe's namesake.

There is no better time to bask in the sun. You surrender yourself to its call, flopping onto your back. Dandelion puffs shoot up into the air around you and slowly rain back down to the earth.

He turns to laugh at you- not the Exarch's polite chuckle, but G'raha's squinting, boyish laughter that he reserves only for your ears. You pat the grass and he sits beside you, one leg outstretched, the other drawn in to his chest.

"We'll have to go back soon," you mutter, sidling closer until your shoulder bumps his hip. You feel crystal there, but only a sliver before it gives way to softer skin. Slowly but surely you are creating your mind's map of him.

"Soon, but not just yet. I advised Lyna of the possibility that the Exarch and the Warrior of Darkness may be called away on matters of the utmost importance."

"I would say this falls under that category."

You grin up at him, but the angle of the sun as it begins to set casts a blinding glare over your eyes. You let them close, soaking up the delicious heat the light brings before it gives rise to the stars.

"Without a doubt," G'raha concurs with mirth. He strokes the hair back from your forehead, settling into a petting motion that makes you boneless. Any hint of playful banter is gone from his voice as he says, "This is most important to me."

Moonrise will bring you back to the celebration, but for now, the light bathes you both in bliss.

Under the warmth of the sun and of G'raha's touch, you melt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! More to come...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *trips and spills basket o' feels*
> 
> Couple words of 'fae' here. Actually Gaelic because reasons. You may notice the added Feo Ul tag- I did my best to make them as non-obnoxious as I could. Again, apologies for any glaring mistakes. I write this during my train commute then do an edit session before posting, so things might still slip through the cracks ;_;
> 
> _(This ended up way longer than I expected??? I'm sorry???)_

The following days pass in a languid haze of what you can only assume most would call normality. Normal for you is the stuff of storybooks to the common people. For you, there is novelty in developing a routine. Daylight hours find you at the Crystalline Mean, communing with the Disciples of Hand and learning what you can of the new crafting materials and techniques of this Shard. It's a productive way to spend your recovery, you reason. Idleness has never sat well with you. 

The Exarch spends his daylight drafting proposals and treaties for his upcoming meeting with the interim Eulmoran mayor, and you leave him be. Politics are not your forte, and you would not slow the progress of nations with your inability to refrain from attaching yourself to one of their leaders.

Nightfall brings you together. You dine with the Exarch and his officers, sometimes with the Scions and Ryne, as she is now inseparable from the rest. But as much as you value your friends' company, their presence is an ominous reminder. They only remain in the city on your account, reluctant to depart until they have the chance to see you off on your return to the Source.

You need to go back. You know it in your bones, but you try not to dwell on it. The wanderer in you is changing, putting down roots, and the thought of tearing them loose already has you feeling ill.

There is an unspoken understanding that brings you back to the crystal tower each night. You are both tired and broken, but the distance between you and him becomes a restless ache that you can only soothe at his side. There are nights you fall asleep reading together in the Ocular, others spent sitting up talking until the hour finds you both silly and yawning, curling up in his nest of blankets simply to be near.

You're reminded all too soon that normal was never meant to be yours. One night G'raha dissolves you into a fit of giggles at an unholy hour when he wakes you to ask if you ever wondered if the Namazu would taste like wild catfish. In the morning, you wake alone.

There is an early council with the city representatives that G'raha is obligated to attend, but that isn't what strikes you as off. When you finally convince yourself to get up from the lonely bed and make your way to the Ocular, you find G'raha's study in disarray. Mistreating books is a cardinal sin to the man, yet they are strewn haphazardly across his desk, spines bent and pages folded, papers with hand-scrawled notes left out in no apparent semblance of order.

A flare of worry ignites your nerves. You leave the books as they are, grabbing a few sheets of the scribbled parchment. There is an unmistakable sketch of the Shards with various formulas and computations written off to the side. There are pages of it, numbers and symbols you don't recognize written in haste, G'raha's patient writing taking on a careless tilt.

It's ineligible to you, a foreign language, but the last page in your hand holds meaning. It's the result of all of G'raha's calculations.

A graph of time between the Source and the First. There is a starred point where the two lines meet, but from there the lines diverge and draw back together with aimless abandon.

You set the papers back where you found them, as if you had walked by none the wiser.

When the Exarch first brought you to the Ocular months ago, he explained that the two Shards had reached a period of equivalency. Time flowed at the same rate on both stars. That doesn't seem to be the case anymore. Due to random happenstance, or maybe a cosmic ripple effect of tampering with and then extinguishing the light, the flow of time was splitting again.

Dragging your hands down your face, you stare at the desk as the realization hits you.

You have to go back, but you have no control over how long you'll be gone, regardless of how long you stay.

Anger wells up within you. You want to scream. You want to make something hurt just as the fates are so determined to make him hurt.

A week in the Source could see seasons change on the First. Hours could pass but warp into days, even weeks. G'raha knows that when you step through that portal, he will have no idea when to expect your return.

He left your side in the night only to discover that he may have to wait for you yet again. 

This is wrong. Your body feels feverish, your pulse pounding as a panic washes over you. The injustice makes your skin crawl and you simply cannot stay still. You cannot allow this to happen again. Destiny took him from you once and then nearly took his life.

No more. _Damn_ destiny, curse the fates, and let gods dare to stand in your way. You've slain their kind for less. You will not abandon your duty on the Source, just as you will not abandon him. 

Your feet carry you from the Ocular, out though the towering doors of the Dossal Gate. You faintly register the guard asking after your haste, but all you can hear is the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. 

With no destination in mind as you race into the Rotunda, you place your hand on the aetheryte. The last thought you have before you scatter into stardust is that crystal has no right to feel so cold beneath your touch.

\---

You return to the cliffside in Kholusia. It isn't practical, but it feels right. Resting your back against the stone, you're reminded of the Exarch's weary confessions, of how he ached for the companionship of an unnamed soul. You'd had your suspicions, but you hadn't dared to hope that day that your hooded companion was your cherished friend, your almost lover. His privacy was invaluable to him, so you let him keep it. It seemed he had little else to call his own.

The past week has seen the Exarch take a cautious step out of the shadows. He still masks himself among the public, but there is more life in him than the time-worn man they had come to know. Among Lyna and the Scions he lets his cowl down, and you've watched him slowly become more animated, the dust of a century's despair finally being brushed aside.

With you, he is himself. He is not the brash young soul that led you on a wild chase across Eorzea and formally introduced himself after a dramatic leap from above. You wouldn't want him to be. You adored his lively wide-eyed nature, but you would have G'raha as he is, not as he was. It would be a lie to say you haven't changed as well.

G'raha of the First is sedate, a polite and gracious man that all who meet cannot help but respect. There are claws to his calm, a clever wit and raging power simmering within. But as different as his demeanor has become, his cheeky smirk and charming laugh are timeless. The years have not dulled your discussions, or cooled the warmth you feel merely being in his presence. He may think himself marred by his pact with the tower, his Allagan eyes frightful, but you cannot look away. 

He is still your G'raha, the one who stole your heart and gave you his as a parting gift.

You cannot stop the fickle flow of time, but you can try to lessen the wounds it leaves. Many powerful beings call you their foe, but you have been lucky enough to make some friends along the way that are just as fearsome.

With the spires of Eulmore in the distance and the mountainous talos clutching Mt. Gulg behind you, the shadow of the rock gives you solace, a place to make your plea in the pink glow of the setting sun.

"My King, your sapling calls upon its most generous, beauteous branch." The lofty show of praise falls away from your voice, leaving only sincerity. "Feo Ul, please heed my call. I need your help."

The air around you crackles with condensed energy. A shrill ringing, faint but undeniable, precedes a swirl of glimmering aether as the king of the faeries bursts into view before you.

"Oh, my adorable sapling _does_ still need me when he isn't near a summoning bell. How delightful!"

The pixie perches on your bent knee, regarding you with kind but teasing eyes. Iridescent wings flutter open and closed, a stunning kaleidoscope of purple hues backlit by the sunset.

"Forgive my negligence. The night has brought peace to this Shard, so I have not had cause to bother you."

"Aye, tis true, though you could never be a bother. But then what could it possibly be that has my adorable sapling so tense?"

Feo Ul tilts their head, regarding you with those wide, mesmerizing eyes. Nothing escapes their notice.

"I will be returning to the Source in a matter of days."

The pixie frowns. Their fiery pigtails waft in the gentle wind of their wings. "Do you no longer wish to return to your home? Your dear friends cannot go with you, but you need only say the word and you'll have my ear to call you back, my darling. I'll pass your words on to the Crystal Exarch, and he'll summon you back in the blink of an eye."

You close your eyes for a moment to steel yourself. It's almost absurd, having this conversation with a pesky little pixie, but you remind yourself of the tremendous help they have been. This is the same Titania who commanded the ancient Bismarck, the faerie who was happy to relieve you of your unwanted crown.

"It is because of the Exarch that I am concerned."

Feo Ul laughs as though your words are ridiculous. "As long as the tower stands, so shall the Exarch. There is no one less in need of concern, dearie, so do not fret."

You sigh, locking eyes with the pixie on your knee. Before you teleported to Kholusia, you stopped in Il Mheg to peruse Urianger's unoccupied cottage. You had a feeling you needed to study up on a bit of fae in order to properly convey your message.

"Feo Ul, the Exarch, he is… _mo ghaol_."

_My love._

They are not words you'll weigh him down with, not yet, but you cannot carry their burden any longer. You know your own heart. You won't deny the truth to yourself when there is no reason to.

The pixie's eyes widen, but in those eternal depths you see not surprise, but wonder. "Has the crystal kitten found his lost heart at last?"

"You knew?"

"Of course, my dearest sapling. The man is old, but I am older. Why do you think we pixies live only in the present? If we cared to think of what is lost or eventually will be in our long, long lives, we'd go mad with grief. I may not suffer loss to shake me, but I know the sight of it well enough."

The fae may seem like fickle, flighty things, but they have their reasons for their behavior. They are wiser than they lead the rest of Norvrandt to believe.

Feo Ul leaps from their perch on your knee and flits around, studying you as though seeing you anew. "It's _you_. How perfect, how sweet! The mighty hero has been the Exarch's champion since long before he touched the light." They suddenly stop in front of you, hanging in mid-air. This is the stern face of the King, not your precocious branch. "But how can one live in the moment when the moment may yet be infinite?"

You don't need to explain your concerns. Feo Ul can reach into the rift and see through its expanse. You can see in their eyes that they know time is fracturing.

"If there is anything you can do, anything at all, I would be forever in your debt."

"You already are, my sweet," Feo Ul says with a flippant grin which disappears as soon as it arrives. "I cannot alter the rift's course. I regret to say, 'tis beyond my magic, even as King."

You pull in a shuddering breath, nodding. It's what you expected, but it was worth a try. You're incapable of walking through that portal without doing everything in your power to make the impending separation less indefinite.

_"But-"_

You jerk your head up.

"But?"

"It will not be easy, even with _my_ magic, but there is something else I can try. I don't want to see my two cutest saplings sulking with their furry little ears down, not one bit!" The pixie lands on your knee again, brimming with excitement. "I make no promises, but if there is aught I can do for the two who saved these lands from ruin, then my power is yours to command."

If you weren't worried it would damage their wings, you would pull the pixie into a crushing hug.

"We will need to make quick work of it, so up to your feet, my darling!" Feo Ul giggles, their voice dropping into a feisty rumble. "Best be sure I'm putting you to work."

Twelve only knows what you've gotten yourself into, but for the first time today, your departure feels less dim.

\---

The Crystarium has entirely too many staircases. Limsa Lominsa back in the Source is a towering architectural question mark as far as you are concerned, but at least it's ramps are kinder on a weary traveler at the end of an arduous day. Every spiraling step up to the top floor of the Pendants shoots through the gash on your thigh, which is healing, although more stubbornly than you were used to. 

It's late. You don't know the hour, but the angle of the moon above told you it would be cruel to arrive at the crystal tower and wake it's keeper when he would undoubtedly be fast asleep. It made more sense to return to your own quarters. You would visit G'raha in the morning when you knew he would be awake, likely preparing his morning tea.

Reaching the top step is a small victory. You pass the rooms where the Scions have been placed in residence before they scatter back across the provinces of Norvrandt. Your suite is at the end of the row, only the finest for a hero. It's unnecessary, but you understand the gesture. G'raha had known you've been perfectly content wrapped in furs on the cold dirt of Mor Dhona, but it was only right for the Exarch as a stranger to ply you with his city's finest.

You go still when you turn your key in the lock. The door is already open. Closing your eyes, you take a steadying breath. This is really the last thing you need right now, some member of whatever opposition that still exists lying in wait to strike.

Leaving the door ever so slightly ajar, you grip the sheath and hilt of your katana in either hand, poised for action. The door is silent when you nudge it open with your foot, and you rapidly scan the room lit by the streaming moonlight from the window.

Relief floods you. No midnight assassins, just a certain Miqo'te asleep on the bench beside the door.

You lock up behind you, then remove your sword to prop it against the wall. G'raha is sleeping soundly, the rise and fall of his chest evident beneath his traditional Exarch robes. It can't be comfortable, what will all of the gilded decoration and heavy trim along the cowl that he's now using as an ill-advised pillow. The end of his curled tail sticks out where the robe bunches at his knees. You slink forward and close your hand around the furry tip. G'raha doesn't wake, but the tail protests on its own, slipping from your hand and winding tight around it's owner's leg.

"Raha," you whisper, but you get no reaction. Crouching beside him, you blow a puff of air over his ear. It twitches as if flustered. You can't help but laugh, and that is what finally does the trick. G'raha blinks as you brush the pale red hair from his eyes. When his vision comes into focus, he startles, your name falling from his lips with relief.

Unable to stop yourself, you trace your finger down over the crystal on his cheek, kissed by the moonlight, sharp in places and impossibly smooth in others. His eyes are imprisoning, seeming to glow from within.

"I hope you realize there is a perfectly good bed to sleep in."

"It smells like you."

G'raha shifts, clearly as uncomfortable as he looks. He settles into a more favorable position, leaning on his arm with his body angled towards you.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know I offend," you say with mock hurt.

"You do not offend, you distract." It's a loaded statement he doesn't give you time to unpack. "I'm relieved to see you safe. I found it strange that you were not present for our evening meal, and no one had heard from you long after the last bell."

"Forgive me. Feo Ul needed my assistance, as it were. That is a story for another time. The last thing I intended was to worry you."

"You are here now. That is what matters."

"So are you," you say with a curious smile. "Not that I'm complaining, I just didn't expect to find you here. I meant to let you sleep."

"I did attempt to, but I couldn't." 

The downcast look that spreads over G'raha's face signals a more serious shift in topic, and this isn't a conversation you are about to have on the floor with G'raha lounging on the bench that is hardly fit for you to lace your boots on.

It's been a long enough day for both of you, and you aren't having any more of this gloom and mourning over your parting that hasn't even happened yet. For now you are together, and you would much rather see him smile.

It's probably not the most tactful decision, but it is the first thing that comes to mind and you're the boisterous one of you both now, so it's your duty to break the tension. You do something you've only had the courage to do once before.

G'raha yelps as you scoop him up, his arms flying around your neck as you hoist him into a carry. He barks your name in half-hearted protest as you trip over his staff, stumbling up the steps to the raised corner of the room.

The first time you picked him up was met with the same amount of fuss. Luckily this time you both fall laughing onto the featherbed instead of plunging into the lake on the what the Skywatchers said was the hottest day of the year.

"It's not as comfortable as your bed, but I can assure you it's a step up from the bench."

G'raha watches you, the playful interlude fading into bewilderment as you slip off your sandals and divest yourself of your armor. Seeming to realize you won't be asking him to leave, he does the same, unbelting then wriggling out of his robes until he's sitting cross-legged on your bed in only the knee-length trousers he wears beneath them. 

"While you are gone I suppose I should see about getting linkpearls for us," G'raha says. "It is absurd that I should worry after you, of all people, but it seems your prowess does little to put my mind at ease. Logic escapes me where you are concerned."

Stripped down to your trousers, you climb into the bed and sit across from him, mirroring his cross-legged stance. Your knees bump, your feet brush. G'raha senses your tail tickling the ball of his foot and he grabs the tip of it between his toes.

"You're always logical," you say. "You don't have to be logical with me. You can worry if that is what you are feeling. I worry about you. Logic doesn't lessen the worth of what one feels."

"That is something I had forgotten over the years, until you came to remind me. My life is richer for your presence in it. I feel so much when you are near, and it is beautiful. _You_ are beautiful, and I---"

G'raha looks up, and the whites of his eyes are bloodshot, raw from fighting to hold back tears. You yearn to reach out and take him in your arms, but you would not silence the words he is struggling to speak. Instead you offer your hands as a lifeline, and he clutches them.

"There is something I need to tell you."

"You don't have to. I know. I was in the Ocular and saw your desk all out of sorts, and I… I know, Raha."

The tears betray him, springing free as he chokes back a sob. It breaks your heart just as it did in Amaurot, but this time you are free to comfort him without restraint. 

"Come here," you say, tugging gently on his hands, and G'raha spills into you, legs bracketing yours as he buries his face in your neck. His breath is ragged, a growl in his throat as he wars with his own show of vulnerability.

"I do not know which is worse," he says against your skin. "The source of this grief or your apparent apathy towards it."

You dig your nails into his scalp, a sweet reprimand. His braid is already starting to unravel from his nap, so you don't feel any remorse for ruffling his hair further. "I am not apathetic. Ask your guard. I stormed out of the tower this morning, completely beside myself after I realized what I was looking at. That is why I was gone. I was trying to find a way to make things better."

G'raha's tears have stopped, but his chest heaves rough against yours, a strained gasp for air. "There is nothing to find."

"That is not what Titania believes."

He pulls back with utter shock. You place a hand on his neck to calm him, the crystal hot to the touch from his distress. "What did they tell you?"

"Very little, in truth, but Feo Ul can see beyond the rift in ways others cannot. They have an understanding of things that no one else does. I asked for help, and they made no promises, but they want to try. How, I don't know, aside from a series of errands they sent me on, but our friend seems to think they can do something."

"I cannot fathom any such possibility. My own portals reject my body as it is now. It is a cruel jest that I have at last gained the knowledge and magical capability for such things, yet the pact I made to acquire them prevents me from their use. I could not even properly pull you from the Source without making a sordid mess of things." His pulse is rapid beneath your fingers, even through the crystal. You soothe it with the slow pass of your thumb over where skin and stone meet.

"It seems there may be some things that only the faerie king can do." 

"I would like to believe it. 'Tis not an easy thing to do."

"What did I say about always being so logical?" you ask with a small smile, an attempt at levity. "We've bent the laws of reason before, and I will do whatever I must to break them for you now."

G'raha tries to return your smile, but it quivers. Even so, the affection in his eyes is staggering. "I am honored to be deemed worthy of such efforts."

"I would do anything for you." You weave your arms around him and together you fall back onto the featherbed. He goes easily, finding his usual spot nestled into your side with his head on your shoulder. "I would take you with me if I could. We could travel together like we wanted to. We'd fly over The Churning Mists, sunbathe beside the Ruby Sea in Onokoro. I would show you everything we never had the chance to see together."

"It would be a dream come true," G'raha says, and his voice is more whimsical than forlorn. It's a good sign, so you continue.

"You would love the food in the Far East, Namazu notwithstanding. They're innocent little creatures, to be fair. Just a touch self-destructive."

"Their chapter in the books regarding your exploits was a welcome interruption from the tales of war."

"They gave me a bell collar." You snort at the memory. "I know they meant it to say I was welcome as one of them, but I never wore it. It seems a touch degrading for a Miqo'te to walk around wearing a bell like a pet coeurl kitten."

G'raha laughs, rolling onto his stomach so he can look up at you. He rests his arm across your ribs, chin on your chest. "That is something I would like to see," he teases. His tail waves behind him as his ears perk. "Do you still have it?"

"Just because I said I would do anything for you doesn't mean you should push your luck."

Joy rumbles in his chest as you bat his ear, and he settles back down onto your shoulder. Neither of you have the energy for play-fighting right now. You shift and wrap your arm around him, holding him close as you look into his eyes. They're still puffy, but they're alight with love and moonglow. It would be so easy, so wonderful to press your lips to his, to tell him without words that the honor is all yours to stand beside him, to know him as he was and as he is, but it wouldn't be right. You will not take this from him. The first kiss you shared was a gift, and your second will be no different.

Instead, you press your lips to his forehead. The message is similar enough, and the happy noise he makes leaves your heart full as the long day drags you both deeper towards a well-deserved sleep.

"How did you get in, anyway?" you ask against his skin. Your voice is groggy to your own ears. "I keep my gear in here, so I always lock the door."

"Ryne heard me knocking from next door and came to investigate. Thancred picked the lock, despite my protests."

_Of course he did._

"I'll have a key made," you murmur. "Though I doubt you'll need it."

"Do you not like it here?"

"Your bed is better." Your head is heavy and you know your next words will be the last coherent ones you speak until you wake to the morning sun on your skin. "It smells like you."

\---

It's a small comfort knowing that your friends have carved out corners of their own in the First to call home. When you walk through the portal to the Source, they will scatter across Norvrandt and return to familiar faces, sleep in familiar beds. Despite G'raha's apologies for them being 'stuck', the Scions are happy to remain. They've had the luxury of time to settle into their new lives.

You never have the luxury of time. You've never had the luxury of _home_, only the road ahead and a lumpy mattress at The Rising Stones that has likely accumulated dust in your absence.

It could be here, you think. You _feel_. Lakeland with it's quiet beauty, the sparkling domes of the Crystarium. In the Source, you raised your lance as you took that first step into Syrcus Tower, but now it is where you know you can lay down your weapons. Walls you once adorned with blood are now decorated with G'raha's memories. 

You will have to carry your memories with you. You have nowhere else to keep them. 

Y'shtola teases G'raha's poor aim when he summoned you, and asks that he send word when he calls you back again. He holds up his hands in good-humored embarrassment and gives his word to do so, though with greater precision than in the past.

The innocent sweetheart that she is, Ryne shares her gratitude that not all of her newfound family is departing at once, but she wishes you well on you travels.

You say your goodbyes with clapped palms and friendly pats on the back, assuring them with your firm trademark nod that you will have Feo Ul send word once you've assessed the situation on the other side.

Thancred puts his hand to Ryne's arm, steering her towards the door. "Let's be on, then. The Exarch will see to the rest."

"Yes," Alisaie agrees. "Be sure to give our best to Tataru, won't you?"

"I will. I'm sure to get an earful fit for us all, no doubt."

You cannot begin to express your thanks for your companions' understanding withdrawal, leaving you and G'raha alone, so you let it go unsaid. After shared farewells and promises of your return, Urianger bows his head as he pulls the door to the Ocular shut behind him.

When you turn around, G'raha steps down from the raised conjuring platform. The sense of natural authority falls away, leaving only bittersweet resignation.

"I must say, I am relieved that your companions do not begrudge me too greatly that I cannot send them with you. I half expected their ire."

"It seems that Norvrandt has ties for us all. It is not easy to walk away from such things."

G'raha's composure falters, but he resumes his calm. He casts his eyes toward the floor before looking back up at you. "Last time it was I that had to walk through a door through which you could not follow. This seems a fitting continuation."

You step closer to him, but not close enough. A few paces remain between you. With he in his Exarch robes and you in full armor, the hint of formality in the distance between you reminds you of your first moments in this room. Then, you wanted nothing more than for the Crystal Exarch to send you back to the Source you were seized from.

The past months have changed you all in ways none of you could have expected.

G'raha inhales, then breathes out with purpose. "Feo Ul was unable to see you off," he says. A statement, not a question. He has already accepted disappointment as fact.

You cannot bear to see him this way. 

"Not quite. We said our parting words earlier this morning."

He frowns, but you can see a hitch in his chest. The hand around his staff tightens. You interrupt him before he begins to question the statement.

"Earth of the First, earth of the Source, breath of the rift that divides." Closing the distance between you and G'raha, you take his hand and close his fingers around the item you withdraw from your satchel. "For you."

He regards the necklace in his palm, an intricate weave of truegold, hematite, and lavender silk. Thumbing the coiled length, he rights the upside-down centerpiece, velvet backing giving way to a pendant. 

It's not quite crystal or resin, but the texture is similar, mostly transparent but with black translucent whisps scattered throughout. Frozen inside are snips of purple leaves and flower petals set among tiny splinters of wood.

It is beautiful in an eerie way. G'raha has no idea what to make of it.

"Something grown from each Shard, and a fragment of energy ripped from the rift, crystalized together. With a tremendous amount of fae magic, it apparently creates an innate bond between their origins when it resides within them." You roll up your sleeve to reveal a wrist cuff of a similar woven design, set with a pendant twin to G'raha's. "You have half, and I have the other."

He says your name without looking at you, unable to look away from the necklace he holds. "What is this?" he asks, voice shaking and raw.

"Not even King Titania can alter the way time works in the rift. It's impossible. _But_ they can reach through it. She speaks to Tataru, contacts my retainers for me. It's a different way of going about things, but it's essentially the same concept when you break it down to the basics." You touch the stone on your cuff and channel your aether into it. G'raha's eyes flare wide as the pendant in his hand reacts, humming and glowing bright. "I got our linkpearls for us."

The golden staff clatters to the floor. He clutches the necklace in both hands, arms shaking as he brings it to his chest and bows his head, eyes pressed tight.

"I swore to myself that I would not show you my tears again. You have already seen them more than I care to admit." 

He has denied himself his own emotions for far too long. You cannot fault him a few tears when there is a century of buried ache behind the collected mask he wears for the masses. G'raha Tia never felt in parts or lived by halves. He threw himself into his studies with such fervor and had such a thirst for what life had to offer, you could not help but be drawn to his enthusiasm. He was magnetic, as he is now. All of that hidden life within has threatened to burst, but you diffuse him. 

With a touch of your hand on his arm, he looks up at you. "Across Shards? Truly?"

Your smile illuminates him.

"This is incredible," G'raha says in wonder. You can see his scholar's mind straining to comprehend the sheer magic within his grasp. "How did you obtain organic materials from the Source? This looks like rosewood."

"If you look closely later, you'll notice that my old pickaxe is about an ilm shorter than it used to be. I'm glad you kept it, otherwise I may have had to tamper with your bow."

"I could have gotten another one." 

"No, you loved that old thing. I wouldn't think of damaging it when I had other options." 

He watches you for a long moment, such endearing peace in the red light of his eyes. "Thank you. This is… I cannot begin to describe it."

"Save your thanks for Feo Ul," you say, but he shakes his head.

"No, this is of your doing. You chased after a hope I dared not even dream." 

"I had to try. Even if you cannot follow me, I can at least take you with me this way. No matter where my travels lead me, or how long I am gone, I'll be right here."

Taking the necklace from G'raha's hand, you clasp it around his neck so that the pendant hangs over the small split in the crystal just below his throat. The velvet backing works as you hoped, preventing either the jagged stone from scratching him, or his rough crystal from damaging the pendant. You would not harm him, nor the ties that will bind you between worlds. The hollow space has always called out to you since you met the Exarch, and to see him decorated with something of your own making pleases you in a way you cannot place.

It suits him. Gold and unforgiving black, and the lavender of the lands he calls home.

His arms wind around your waist, yours falling easily around his neck where they are. "This is the greatest kindness I have ever known," he says behind your ear, and there is weight to his words. He whimpers when you hug him tighter to your chest. The vulnerable sound leaves a scar on your heart.

"I will return as soon as duty allows, and not a day later. In the meantime… I will speak with you soon. That is a promise I can keep."

You release him and crouch to retrieve his staff. He accepts it from you, turning to face the wall like a man walking to the gallows with his head held high. The portal erupts into being before you and fills the room with an ominous drone. It's azure glow taunts you.

This is really it, then. 

"May the Twelve keep you safe, my dearest friend."

The portal swirls with impossible light, beckoning you forward, but you do not follow. Your heart pounds in your chest and you are frozen where you stand, mouth dry and nerves coursing with inexplicable anxiety that pains you more than the bite of any blade.

You can't help it. You need to touch him once more, to step back into your native world with his warmth and scent on your skin to know it wasn't all just a cruel dream. With your hand on the back of his neck, you press your forehead to his with a ragged exhale. Your body trembles. You will him to feel what you feel, the illogical, beautiful pain of parting that roots you where you stand.

He leans into your touch as you caress his cheek.

_My love._

It shouldn't be this hard to walk away from someone you thought lost to time. You had no idea how much you missed him until you found him again, the numbing emptiness inside you starting to feel whole. It's hardly been a fortnight since you first called him by his name on Mt. Gulg, but the months with him in Mor Dhona are etched on your soul. Despite the years and the changes they brought, you and him are still perfectly in tune. It was inevitable that you would fall right back into place beside one another.

It doesn't have to make sense. It is illogical, but you don't have to be logical with him. The words you consoled him with last week are the same you soothe yourself with. You know what you feel, and when you open your eyes to see red irises watching you, part of you wonders if he knows it as well.

You do not say goodbye. This is the first of many inevitable times you will need to reenact this scene, but the wounds are still fresh, your heart still blinded by being bared to the light after so long kept in darkness. You will see him again, perhaps sooner than you expect, but it doesn't make it any easier to take that step back from him. 

The cold abyss of the rift welcomes the brush of your hand, pulling you into it's empty embrace as you test the waters with your fingertips.

A faint, frantic cry of your name brings your focus back to the First. You rip your hand back from the portal to find G'raha watching you with sudden fretful trepidation. It evaporates when your eyes meet.

"Raha, what's wrong?"

He rises on the toes of his sandals to press his lips to yours. It is so soft, almost shy in it's hesitance, and it releases a flood of warmth in you that threatens to bring you to your knees. He pauses for breath, gauging your reaction. You drag your hooded eyes open to find a question in his, barely a breath away.

The answer is obvious. You kiss him, and in the slow, sweet glide of your lips on his, you tell him everything you cannot find the courage to say. You hold him close and he touches your face with impossible tenderness as your mouths move together, relearning the feel of one another after far too long apart. He presses into you, his staff nestled in the crook of his thumb as he splays his fingers across the small of your back. The portal hisses as the ornate scepterhead cuts through to the other star. The sound is a harsh reminder that has you deepening the kiss, searing the feel and taste of him into a memory to carry with you.

Your heart sings, and his replies with harmony. 

He breaks the kiss and places a hand on your chest. It's impossible to tell whether he is holding you at bay or restraining himself. "Please. If you do not go, I fear I may ask you to stay."

Nothing would make you happier, but such luxuries were not meant for men like you.

"Do what you must, my Warrior of Light," G'raha says as he looks upon you with blatant adoration. "Whenever duty allows you a moment's rest, I will be awaiting your return."

You cannot fathom anything worthy enough to say, so you place your hand over the pendant at G'raha's neck. He grabs your wrist there, feeling the twin stone beneath your sleeve. Mana pulses through his hand and both gems grow hot to the touch, emitting a subtle hum. 

As you draw back from him, he nods. The muted despair of earlier is gone, leaving only hopeful acceptance. Your aether riots as you pass through to the Source, your entire being protesting as it rips through the space between stars.

The Syrcus Trench crunches beneath your boots. It is night in the Source, and you lift your face to the stars, chasing their light to guide you on your way to Revenant's Toll. After your arrival from the First, there's no way you have enough aether to teleport there. It's a long trek, but right now you aren't bothered by the opportunity to be alone with your thoughts.

You smile to yourself, suppressing a chuckle. The crystal tower pierces the brilliant starscape, reaching into the heavens as it's master you just left in the Ocular slumbers within.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I hope you guys enjoyed & I would love to hear any feedback! More to come soon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your kind words and encouragement! This fandom is so talented and supportive, it's amazing.
> 
> Cautious rating increase here due to some references. Real rating spike next chapter. 
> 
> So, as cool as the plotty empire stuff is, that's not what this story is about, so excuse me while I gloss over it & provide some long-distance sappy pining miqo'te boys. (AKA, This was longer than I expected: part 2)

The peace offering of Rak'tika berries was a wise decision. Your chocobo may be your ever loyal companion, but the creature can hold a grudge like no other. He warked in displeasure at the sight of you instead of his Lalafel caretaker, but after scarfing down the bag of wildberries and coercing you into chin scratches with several melodramatic _kwehs_, your old friend seemed to accept your apology. 

The past week has been hectic, to say the least. Tataru didn't hesitate to give you a general rundown of the current state of things, which in truth is a scattered mess after the prolonged absence of most of the Scions. Cid has stepped up with overseeing the exploration into the Syrcus Trench, and the undeterrable receptionist managed to recruit Estinien to investigate the empire and chase after the whispers of Black Rose. The less crucial matters she has managed to source out to your other companions who are always willing to lend a helping hand.

You had expected things to seem different after you prevented the Calamity through your efforts on the First. The fact that rumors of the empire's scheming are still alive and well is unsettling, but interpreting altered timelines isn't your specialty. Things are quiet for now, and you will take that for the blessing it is. You will not wait in want of whispers when Estinien has assured you that though reluctant at first, he is in it for the long haul now, having made a valuable ally in Gaius. He will send word though Tataru when your presence is warranted.

Unfortunately, quiet doesn't mean you can rest. Rumors of your disappearance have unsettled the powers that be. The bag of linkpearls that were all but useless on the First finally see the light of day, and you make the rounds, visiting your allies and reminding the realms that you are still their champion.

Today is the first time you finally have a chance to stop and take a moment to relax. Tomorrow you have an audience at the Doman Enclave to discuss their continued plans for restoration, but this day is yours to spend as you choose.

Newly forgiven, you make your way to the stables. A basket of greens is all it takes for your chocobo to submit to the saddle you hoist onto his sturdy back. You forgo the helmet and leg guards of the barding set, opting for practicality. Where you're going, any threats that may exist would barely manage a scratch on you. Your valiant steed won't have to worry about charging into battle any time soon.

"You poor thing," you say as you tighten the last strap on the harness. "Tataru can barely stretch to fill your trough, let alone reach the stirrups. You're probably itching for a good ride, aren't you?"

The bird lets out an enthusiastic _wark_ and scratches at the dirt as you tug on the straps to make sure everything is securely in place.

"Me too." 

Grabbing the reins and placing a firm hand on the chocobo's flank, you channel your aether and close your eyes as the familiar swirl of pure energy envelops you both. In a bolt-like blink, your entirety feels reduced to atoms and reconstructed in an instant. One moment you're in the stuffy stable at Revenant's Toll, the next your boots sink into the sands of Costa del Sol.

Teleportation will never not be disorienting, but a quick shake restores your senses and feeling in your extremities. Your chocobo seems no worse for wear. He's as used to aetheryte travel as you are at this point.

The sun beams bright above, the morning light a pleasant caress on your face. It's early enough that the daytrippers and summer revelers haven't arrived in their joyous droves. The shores are empty save for some opportunistic fishermen and merchants setting up shop.

The cliffside road is empty and winding, and it calls to you. Climbing into the saddle, you grab the reins and give a tap of your foot against the bird's side.

"Let's run."

You take off at a trot that quickly speeds into an energetic clip as you let your chocobo set the pace. Mighty talons smack the earth, kicking up clouds of dust in your wake. Each pounding step sends shockwaves of adrenaline through you, and soon you're sweating from both the sun and the exertion of staying in the saddle. You let him run, long neck stretched out ahead as he sprints, burning off the cabin fever that built in your absence. Like you, the bird has a thirst for adventure. Just because you've been content with a taste of domestic calm doesn't mean your feathered friend shares your opinion. 

The chocobo's sprint slows to a gallop, then to a leisurely stroll as you near the bottom of the cliff overlooking Bloodshore. You veer left, past the rocks and through the high stone walls opening out into the cove of Hidden Falls. The colibri leave you be, but as soon as you dismount, your chocobo chases after one but quickly loses interest in favor of a moment's rest beneath a palm tree.

It is a pleasant surprise to find the cove empty. Usually your old axemaster would be honing his skills beneath the waterfall, or guests would be passing an idle morning on the raised cabanas out on the water. You are completely, blissfully alone.

For want of a swimsuit, you strip down to your smallclothes and wade out past the shoreline. The cool water soothes your sweaty, sunkissed skin, the salty smell of seawater invading your senses. The steady rush of the waterfall lulls you as you float along, drifting on your back and swimming for the sake of nothing other than enjoying the peace the water brings.

Almost as if the stars align- perhaps they even truly do - you feel your wrist heat just as you think that there could only be one thing better than enjoying this moment in solitude.

You swim over to a nearby rock and prop your arms on it, lounging like a siren peering up at an unsuspecting sailor. It's hot from the rising sun, pleasant on your skin in contrast to the morning water. You rest a hand on your wrist cuff, pulsing aether into it to anchor the connection.

"Good morning, Raha."

_"Good evening,"_ G'raha corrects. His voice surrounds you, clear despite the staggering distance. _"How long has it been?"_

It's your ritual now. Whenever you speak, you recount how much time has passed since you left the First.

"Nine and a half days." 

_"Today marks seven weeks."_

You sigh through the ache in your chest. Nearly two months had passed on the First. Even the thought of waiting two months to return has you feeling hollow.

"But we spoke last night." It's a useless protest, but one you cannot contain.

G'raha chuckles. His amusement sounds genuine, but the sadness there is poorly hidden. _"That was five days ago."_

You lay your head on your arm and squint your eyes shut as you try and fail to process it all. He had told you once that there was no rhyme or reason to the flow of time, but that didn't stop you from hoping things might make some semblance of sense one day.

"I'm sorry," is all you can come up with.

_"Don't be. It is gift enough to hear your voice when I had expected to remain in silence. Besides, I have been charting the timeflow and the differences are miniscule compared to what they once were. I have a theory, but it is too improbable and far too soon to give it any true consideration."_

"I would like to hear it anyway. Tell me?"

_"Our stone,"_ he says, unable to deny the eager note in your voice. _"With it's tremendous power being fractured in two, I cannot help but wonder if it has created some sort of pull that is preventing the generation of too much separation between the Shards in order to facilitate the bond. The odds of that being true are infinitesimal, but I have witnessed the realization of the impossible before. One must keep an open mind with such matters."_

"I would like to believe it. It would be nice to have something work in our favor for a change."

_"Was preventing the Calamity not enough of a victory in your eyes?"_ he teases.

"I mean 'our' as in '_us_'. Forgive me the selfish thought, but I think after everything we've done for our worlds, we've earned the right to at least want the _chance_ to have time together. I would prefer not to be away from you any longer than I need to."

There is a beat of silence before G'raha speaks. You wonder if he's blushing, rosy cheeks brightening to the same shade as his lightened hair. _"I am still not used to hearing you say such things."_

"Then I will have to say them more often until you believe me."

_"I do believe you, tis just surreal, after all this time. To know that you still care for me, that you even still wish to kiss me… Forgive me, but you are my undoing. I miss you so."_

"I miss you too," you say, and it feels vastly inferior to his lovely praise, but it is all you have to offer. The water's chill starts to seep into your bones, so you lift yourself up onto the rock to let the sun reheat your skin.

_"Are you near water?"_

You laugh. It's easy to forget he cannot see you when he sounds close enough to touch. "I just went for a swim. I'm by the Hidden Falls."

_"I was always fond of that place. The acoustics there are perfect."_

"Do you still sing?"

_"Not often, but yes. I do on occasion, when I am certain of my solitude."_

"I'm relieved to hear that. I love your voice."

_"Then I shall sing for you when you come home."_

Such a simple word, but it has you grinning like a fool. _Home_. Given by him so freely, without a moment to doubt the thought before lending voice to what your instincts have been telling you since you met.

G'raha is your home. You're so overwhelmed that you fear you might cry, but the happiness you feel casts a shadow over all else. He doesn't even realize the gift he just laid at your feet.

"I would like that very much," you say.

_"As would I."_ He hums contentedly, and you think you hear him take a sip of tea. _"The waterfall aside, I must admit I do not miss Costa del Sol. The tourism does little for it's appeal in my eyes."_

"What, the dancing Seeker girls in bikinis don't tickle your fancy?"

G'raha coughs abruptly. _"Not quite. Ladies' swimwear was never of any interest to me."_

You expected him to shy away from your playful question, but it seems the distance has G'raha more willing to step forward out of the reserved shell time has built around him. 

_Interesting._

"We are in agreement, then. I prefer my Seekers decidedly less female, preferably with red fur and eyes to match."

_"You are toying with me,"_ G'raha accuses, absent of any irritation. If anything, he is amused by it. 

You can't imagine that anyone has ever flirted with the Crystal Exarch, or even gotten close enough to try, a shame though that is to think. Far from you be it to begrudge him any affection, but to think that it has only ever been you on his mind and your name on his lips conjures a sense of primal possession within you that you prefer to keep under wraps. _'Mine'_ is not a thought you've had the privilege to entertain.

"Only because you are so fun to toy with," you say with an apologetic laugh. "I'll stop."

_"You needn't do so. I am yours to toy with as you please."_

_Oh._ The words are spoken innocently enough, but you know him. It was barely there, but you couldn't miss that husky undertone to his voice. No matter how G'raha actually meant it, he knows what he said and how it could be interpreted.

Your mind does not need to be venturing down this path when you are perched on a rock in public in nothing but your smallclothes. The only thing you can explain away is your blush, and that's only because you're likely getting sunburnt.

_"I would like to go swimming with you again, though."_ G'raha says, graciously returning back to the topic at hand. _"Our afternoons at the lake were always dear to me. Though I am afraid I would look a ghastly sight in the water, if I were to attempt it now."_

"None of that. You're beautiful." 

You think you hear him whimper, but if he does, he lets it go without any sign of acknowledging it. _"I appreciate your kindness, but I would prefer your honesty. I know what I look like."_

"You want my honesty?"

_"Please. I would prefer to know the truth of how you see me now before you return. It is difficult to determine my actions at times, not knowing. I understand that I was at least acceptable enough to look upon when I was younger, but... this thing I am now. I know I am not pleasing."_

There is something to having this conversation from a world away. You cannot see the naked vulnerability in his expression, and he cannot see yours. All you can see is the sun dancing on the inside of your eyelids as your turn your face to the sky and try to steady your breathing.

If he wants the truth, then he shall have it.

"You really were so handsome when we were younger. With your colorful fur and your mismatched eyes, I couldn't help but watch you whenever I thought I could get away with it. You were strong, and so _frighteningly_ intelligent, and you actually treated me like a _person_, I-- you were everything I didn't know I was allowed to want. For that one moment I was so happy to think I could actually have you in my life, but then you closed those doors, and…" 

Releasing a shuddering sigh, you open your eyes to the horizon, an immortal expanse of sea and sky, so serene yet unforgiving in it's might. "You are different now, but not in the way you think. You are still as handsome as you were the day we met. I know you think the crystal is a curse, but it does not detract from your appearance in my eyes. I find it so alluring, I can't explain it. I wish you could see it the same as I do, the way you shine in the light, how sometimes your aether glows from within. I love the feel of it beneath my fingers, as warm as your soft skin. It's still you, Raha. The tower's mark on you hasn't changed a thing. I want to feel the way your crystal moves against my skin. I still want to know how your body feels against mine, around me, _within_ me, and I want it to remind me that you are still _alive_. That there is no one like you, no one that _feels_ like you, no one that makes me feel the way that you do. I have never been so fully drawn to anyone, body and soul, as I am to you. That is my honesty."

The only thing you can hear is the spray of the waterfall, the gentle lapping of the tide on the sand. You've stunned him into silence and your heart is pounding so violently in your throat that you fear you may choke on it, but you've laid your cards on the table after keeping them close to your chest. It's his turn to read them as he chooses.

_"You deserve someone perfect. Someone whole."_

"You're my perfect. I don't want anyone else."

The sound he makes is almost wounded. It's the sound of fear spilling over, insecurity masquerading as flippant self-deprecation giving way to crushing relief. Your acceptance frees him from the shackles of his own making.

G'raha lets out a harsh, quivering sigh. _"When I brought you to the First, I feared you might not even recall my name," _he says, voice tight with disbelief.

"Now look what you've gotten yourself into," you say as you smile to yourself, trying to inject some levity back into the conversation. "I'm afraid you're stuck with me, as long as you can tolerate it."

He laughs openly, and the sound warms your aching heart. _"I would remind you that being stuck beside you was my wish from the start. You are most tolerable."_

"Then it seems we both benefit from this situation."

_"It does seem that way, I agree."_ The humored joy in his voice falls to a wistful sigh. _"How does Eorzea fair?"_

"Still eerily quiet, but I'm not about to complain. Estinien is still chasing word of Zenos, with no recent developments. He has agreed to continue to support our efforts in my absence, so the weight is not entirely on my shoulders."

_"Leaving the Warrior of Darkness free to return to his duties on the First." _

"_Duties_, yes. Among other things." You smile as you say, "I'll be home soon."

The phrase feels foreign on your tongue, but the novelty is one you know will not be wearing off, not as long as you are met by the open arms of a certain Allagan prince.

\--

Cid sidesteps his way through the standing crowds in the tavern and plunks another tall mug of your favorite poor decision in front of you. You beam at the offering and slide it towards yourself to sip enough from the brimming glass, then safely lifting it without it sloshing all over the table. The froth tickles your nose, making you swipe the residue away with the back of your hand.

"Hells, you'd think they don't have anything to drink on that other star of yours," the Garlean says as he sits across from you, sporting an already well-nursed mug of his own.

"The mead is rather good, but I haven't found anywhere that serves cider yet. Wine is common, mead too, but ale is everywhere, especially in the dwarven communities. You'd get along with them."

"Anyone who makes good ale is a worthy companion in my book."

You snicker into your glass, looking up at your friend over the rim. "I was thinking because they're short bearded fellows who wear silly things on their head, but that works just as well."

Cid guffaws, tossing his arm in your direction. "Says the cat who barely comes up to my nose."

"I'm tall for my tribe," you defend with mock indignation. "For a Garlean, you'd look like an infant if you shaved that ridiculous beard off."

"It's not ridiculous! You're just jealous you can't even grow a beard."

"I wouldn't even if I could. My ears get itchy enough. I don't need any more fur, especially on my face."

The blush of alcohol tinging Cid's cheeks glows red as he laughs. "Ah, I missed you, my old friend. You sure you don't want to stick around for a while? I could always use an extra set of hands at the shop."

You shake your head before diving in for another sip of the delectable mirror apple cider. Depending on the season when you get back, you might have to whisper some ideas in the dwarven brewmasters' ears.

"You sure are eager to get back, aren't you?"

"A bit," you say vaguely. Cid doesn't need to know you're practically vibrating out of your chair with excitement. He knows you well enough to notice by now, anyway.

"So when is this Exarch friend of yours going to summon you back? You're not just going to vanish before my eyes, are you?"

"No, he has to open the portal first," you explain. "I told him I'm ready whenever he is before I met you here, but time flows differently on the First, so it could be a while yet, it could not. I'm not sure. It's all very complicated… Too complicated, really."

You're rambling, you can tell. You're nervous and excited and the cider is starting to tingle your cheeks, now that you're on your third pint. 

Cid frowns sympathetically, putting his glass down. "If it's that complicated, why not just stay? I'm sure your new friend will find a way to send the rest of the Scions home before long. I think it's time you give yourself a break. I haven't seen you this out of sorts since Rammbroes put young G'raha in your tent."

The Garlean laughs at his own comment, but you are only confused by it.

"Cid, how much did Tataru tell you about after we returned light to the First?"

He shrugs. "What else is there to tell? Our friends are still stuck, and you're on double duty."

You bury your face in your hands and laugh, dragging your palms down your cheeks. Your elbows make a loud thunk as they collide with the table. Patrons nearby too nosy for their own good likely think the Warrior of Light has gone mad or ventured too deep into his cups.

Cid knows. Behind his bravado is a good friend, an observant soul. He left a bottle of mead outside your tent that night when you returned alone to a pile of furs that still smelled like G'raha. You never spoke a word of any of it, but there was a shared understanding between you both. In dark moments of the worst of your regret and heartache, simply knowing that someone else knew, that someone else had been there and acknowledged what had been, it gave you solace. It reminded you that it had been real when your tired despair gave you cause to doubt.

You remove your hands from your face and hold your arm across the table, presenting your wrist to Cid.

"The stone on this cuff was created by the pixie Tataru has been in contact with, Feo Ul. King Titania. It functions similarly to a linkpearl between this Shard and the First, but with a much higher aether consumption due to the power required."

Cid whistles, grabbing your wrist to study the gem. Though it's no work of magitek, the man has seen enough in his day to recognize a work of godlike power when he sees it.

"Feo Ul is our communication lifeline to the First. Myself, Tataru, _anyone,_ can speak with them, in theory. This," you say, twisting your wrist in the air before bringing it to settle on your mug, "was a gift to myself and the Exarch. You know me, Cid. It takes an act of the Twelve for me to contribute to a conversation without lives on the line, or some liquid courage in hand. Why in Hydaelyn's name would I expend my aether to speak with someone a literal world away?"

Cid sits back in his chair, tilting on the wooden feet. It's clear there's a question on his tongue, but he stays silent, crossing his arms to wait for your impending clarification, brow lifted in interest.

"It's not just a crystal tower mirrored on the First. It's our tower, three hundred years from now."

White eyes widen across from you. The front legs of Cid's chair meet the floor with a loud clack. "You can't be serious?"

"I am." You close your hand around your wrist cuff and watch as realization dawns on your friend.

"You found him? He's awake?"

You nod, and the biggest grin you've ever seen from your old friend stretches across his face as he smacks the table. A wave of cider cascades over the side of your mug.

"G'raha Tia! I'll be damned, that is the best news I've heard in an age! Rammbroes will be beside himself when he hears this. Biggs and Wedge too! No wonder you're all over the place. How is the lad? Well rested, I would hope."

Cid's joke doesn't escape you, but it's hard for you to equate '_well rested_' with the quavering voice in Kholusia that reflected on his life's long journey like a man on his deathbed.

He is _alive_, you remind yourself. He is alive, he is awake, he is _yours_. 

You will not burden Cid with the harsh truth of G'raha's years in the cold light, concealed and alone, enduring generations of his people's suffering while unable and unwilling to even acknowledge his own. That is a story for another day and a stronger drink.

Instead, you smirk and say, "Why don't you ask him yourself?"

You place your hand over your wrist and let your aether flow through the stone. It burns hot against your skin, fading into a soothing warmth that spreads throughout every inch of your body.

G'raha says your name in a way that scorches your face in current company. _"I cherish your impatience, but we have only just arrived at the Amaro Launch. Our return from Eulmore was delayed a few bells by a tempting brunch spread I was disinclined to deny my councilmen."_

You do your best to ignore the pleased, knowing smirk on Cid's face. Any questions he may have had of how you and G'raha are getting along after all this time have been completely erased.

"I have no intention of rushing you. I have someone here with me that wishes to say hello."

"G'raha Tia," Cid says in the deep, rumbling tone he used when spouting orders at the excavation site. "It has been a while."

A sputtering, choked-off laugh sounds around you. _"Cid!"_ G'raha gasps in delighted surprise. _"My friend, it is a joy to hear your voice again. I trust you are well?"_

"As well as ever, just buying our friend here a few drinks before I send him back your way. We have to catch up, you hear? Next time he's back in Eorzea, I'm borrowing this bracelet of his. I want to hear what you've been up to since you woke, kid."

"Kid?" You scoff. "He's older than you now, you know. Hells, you were barely ten years older than us before."

"Is that so, G'raha? How long have you been awake now?" Cid asks. 

_"It's been almost one hundred and five years now, I believe."_

Cid's eyes flare open at the number, drastically higher than he was expecting.

"It's a long story," you say. 

"That sure sounds like the case. Next time, G'raha. I won't keep our friend from you now that you're ready to call him back, but next time. I want to hear it."

_"And I will gladly tell it. Thank you for taking care of him for me."_

The fuzzy feeling in your cheeks is amplified by G'raha's alluring, eloquent voice, but the giddy sensation evaporates when Cid gives your arm a brotherly smack.

"You give me too much credit. This stubborn arse doesn't need taking care of. All I did was liquor him up a bit for you."

You hear the familiar sound of the doors of Syrcus Tower swinging wide, followed by pleasantries with the gatekeep. G'raha has always been so friendly with his people, even under the weight of all his private suffering. You will always commend him for that kindness that was no small feat, not when there was no one to return the favor who knew who they were truly speaking to.

The Exarch's polite anonymous warmth is nowhere to be found now, only G'raha's genuine chuckle, a low rumbling thing that still manages to retain the melody of his tenor.

_"You have my thanks all the same. I am certain the moment of relaxation is well deserved by you both."_ You hear another door closing, and then he says your name. _"I will be in the Ocular momentarily. Are you ready?"_

You have been away for twelve days, and he has been waiting for your return for nearly ten weeks. It is a far cry from the years you had feared, but it is still too long.

"Yes," you say, not bothering to mask the thick longing in your voice. "Should I head out to the Trench?"

_"That won't be necessary. Now that I have the luxury of your cooperation, this will be much easier. Do you remember our place on the lakeshore?"_

"Of course."

_"Wait for me there. I must sever our connection in order to cast the spell. Pray, do not tarry, for time will not."_

Your arm goes cold. The sudden loss of warmth and G'raha's voice leaves you in an empty daze, but Cid scoots back in his chair, the feet screeching on the wooden floor.

"Take your bird. I'll make sure he gets back to the stable in one piece."

"Thank you," you breathe. Standing up, you clasp palms with Cid, your ever loyal friend. He pulls you in to his chest, thumping you on the back. 

"No need for that. You two have been waiting long enough for this. I'm happy for you. Both of you. Now get out of here."

You leave your cider half finished and scoop up your bags, making long strides towards the tavern door. As soon as you're under the open sky, you whistle for your chocobo. A familiar _kweh_ precedes him as he darts around the corner from the tavern's small corral. He barely comes to a stop before you're filling the saddlebags with your belongings. The chocobo must sense your urgency, because he lowers himself to the ground to make it easier for you to climb onto his back.

Pulling the reins to guide the chocobo to the proper gate, you click your tongue and spur him forward with a tap against his flank. He takes off at a run. You flick the reins to encourage his pace, guiding the way out of Revenant’s Toll and down the road to St. Coinach's Find. Halfway through the barren battlefield, you urge him off the road. He caws and flaps at the abrupt shift in terrain, but he surges down the hill at your command. When the shore comes into view, you pull back on the reins. The chocobo slows to a skidding stop and you pat his neck with praise before you vault to down to your feet.

"Cid's going to help Tataru take care of you while I'm gone, alright boy?" Retrieving your things from the saddlebags, you sling the heavy knapsack over your shoulder. "I'm sorry I can't bring you with me. I miss having you around. G'raha misses you too."

You pull the reins and guide him to face the way from which you came. "I'll bring you back an even bigger sack of berries next time. I promise."

With a loud _'hyah!'_ and a slap to the chocobo's thigh, you send him running back up the hill to the main road. He knows where his home is- he's smart enough to find his way and strong enough to take down any of the monsters in this area that may cross his path.

Your heart is pounding from the frantic ride. You turn to face the lake, it's surface a twinkling mirror of the stars above, rippling in the summer breeze. The last time you came to this lakeshore, your chocobo had carried both you and G'raha here for what you had no idea at the time was a bittersweet farewell.

As your feet carry you to the place where you built a fire in the sand and made promises under the night sky, you hold your arms out beside you, feeling the air begin to spark with an otherworldly aether.

This is the gift of the ancients, the unrelenting might of Allag in the hands of a man not set upon conquering kingdoms, but still unafraid to use his power to reach across worlds to claim what is his.

An unsettling hum surrounds you as the air contorts with whisps of blue aether the same shade as the portal within the Ocular. They snap and hiss, pulsing with searching purpose that would have terrified you in another time. You reach out, steadying your breath as you tell yourself, _this is G'raha_, and you tell his aether, _you've found me_.

A bolt of screaming static pierces the night. The searching aether converges and erupts into a swirling cloud of azure that draws you inward.

This time you aren't afraid. This time you go willingly, welcoming the powerful grip that pulls you through the rift from one world to the next.

When you pass through the portal into the Ocular, you are met with a vision in red.

G'raha steps forward as you climb down from the platform. His bow and quiver hang at his hip on the outside of his crimson archer robe, his staff held low at his side as he lets the portal fizzle out behind you. 

There is so much love in his eyes as he says, "Welcome home."

You meet him where he waits and take his face in your hands, pressing your mouth to his with a kiss so tender, so adoring it pulls a startled, weak little moan from the back of G'raha's throat. His arms twine around your neck, bringing the staff to rest against your shoulder as he surrenders, melting into you with an airy gasp.

He has kissed you twice now, and each time was meant to say goodbye. This time you take the lead and let your lips and hands say, _hello, my love, I'm home._

You feel his smile against yours, and you know the wait was worth it. It will always be worth it, no matter how time twists between your stars. To be able to give him this happiness, to be able to share in it, is a richer prize than any you've known. Your hand trails down his cheek, chasing the feel of skin giving way to crystal, to your woven claim that rings his throat. Fingers closing around the back of his neck, pressing into unyielding stone and the soft base of his unmarred hairline, you are helpless, too lost in the daze this man dissolves you into to resist daring the touch of your tongue on his.

G'raha opens to you, only you, meeting you with the same wanting hesitance that catches flame, burning slow and unhurried now that time is on your side. The taste of him is divine, the curious play of his lips on yours, the tip of his clever tongue learning how to undo you without the captivating words he so often speaks.

He breaks the kiss, and _gods_, his eyes are even more disarming only an ilm from yours as he breathes you in. "You and Cid were in Revenant's Toll," he observes. "They still serve my favorite cider?"

"I'll bring a flask back for you next time."

He presses his lips together in consideration before grinning up at you. "I would like that. Though I find I quite prefer the taste of it this way."

G'raha coyly licks into your mouth, daring yet timid as he steals another taste of you. His hand falls to your shoulder and it is then that he notices the thick strap there. He opens his eyes and makes a small noise of distress when he sees the heavy bag hanging at your hip.

"Forgive my negligence," he says as he unwinds his arms from your neck to lift the bag from your shoulder. "I did not even allow you to lay down your burden."

"It's quite alright. You won't hear me complain with a welcome like that." You take the staff from G'raha's busy grip and secure it to its place on his back. "That's for you, anyway."

His protest comes in the form of a half-hearted frown that pinches the arrowheads under his eyes. When he opens the sack and reads the title of the first tome, _Essences & Permutations_, protest gives way to excitement.

"This is one of the titles that the Sharlayan records indicated was lost when the library was abandoned."

"They locked it up before you ever had the chance to visit, right? We were still boys during the invasion." 

G'raha's face falls, mouth agape in pure wonder as he paws though the sack of ancient tomes. He looks up at you with wide eyes. "These are all from the Great Gubal Library?"

"I took what I could for now. I'll bring more next time," you say with a shrug. "There were a lot of questionable diaries, so I left those in favor of more academic titles. I'm sorry for looting your people’s history, but I thought you might enjoy them."

He sets the bag down and practically pounces as he throws his arms around you. You laugh as he squeezes you tight.

"I never thought that I would have the opportunity to read any of these. Thank you so very much." His excitement is underlined with emotion, barely audible but enough to know your intuitive impulse trip to the Hinterlands has struck a chord with your voracious bookworm.

You nuzzle your cheek against his temple before dropping a kiss into his hair. He smells vaguely of the decadent aromas you remember from Eulmore's showers, and you tuck away the stray spike of anger that rises within you. The visitors from the Crystarium were there for two days of trade talks. The Crystal Exarch would have been given a private chamber, not shoved under a stream of water and all but told to delouse.

Over G'raha's head you see tall white ears appear in the open doorway leading out into the tower. Lyna smirks when she meets your gaze.

"Welcome back to The First, Warrior. It is good to see you safe. The people will be pleased to hear their hero has returned to Norvrandt."

G'raha must sense you go still, because he places a reassuring hand on your chest. "She knows. I told her the chapters of our tale that I had previously been forced to withhold. The Scions know. It is only right that my family does as well."

You could swear Lyna blushes at the fond address from her father figure, but she bows her head to hide it as G'raha turns in your arms to regard her.

"It is good to see you as well, Captain," you say. 

Her ears swivel as she looks up at you, acknowledging your greeting with a curt nod, though the brief arch of her brow speaks more than you've ever heard from her. She is fiercely protective of the Exarch, and though she trusts you with her life, she cannot help but be wary. She has the same instincts that you do.

"Shall I send word to the fort that you will be on your way, milords?"

"Yes, though allow us half a bell to prepare." G'raha looks up at you. "Twas long past nightfall on The Source, yes? It is not yet midday. I daresay the Warrior of Darkness could use some coffee before our soldiers test the mettle of his marksmanship."

"Shall I prepare the water for your tea as well?" she asks.

"I would not ask it of you, but if you wish to do so, the kindness would be most appreciated," G'raha says.

Lyna smiles softly and takes her leave with a less than formal bow. G'raha crouches to scoop up his newly acquired treasure, hugging the heavy sack of books to his middle. You would offer to carry them, but he looks so pleased with his prize.

"Would you assist me in shelving these while Lyna prepares our beverages? They need not be in any order, I will take care of that matter later. I would just prefer to see such priceless knowledge safely stored before taking our leave."

"Of course." You rest your hand on the small of his back as he leads you with delight into his study. "So at last I see your plan to best me at archery. Keep in mind I will be sleep deprived. My aim may be as poor as yours when you first summoned me."

G'raha turns to you with a playfully cross look. "May _you_ keep in mind that I have never needed such underhanded tricks to best your bow. Regardless, win or lose, I intend to reward you with a nap before we see to the rest of our day."

He crouches beside an empty space in one of his many sprawling shelves, setting the heavy bag down beside him.

"You have a whole day planned for us, do you?"

You sit down next to him with the sack of books between you. He passes one to you and runs his crystal hand over your swishing tail before taking a book for himself.

"Not planned, per se, but I ensured my duties have been rescheduled in favor of more important matters."

G'raha selects a particularly dusty tome from the pile. He wipes it with the back of his glove before slotting it into an open space on the shelf.

Whoever would have thought library duty would leave you feeling so light?

His tail is wrapped around his other side, out of reach, so you are unable to return the sweet caress. You settle for leaning over the sack of books to kiss behind his ear, his thick fur tickling your face.

G'raha busies himself with his reverent work, but his tail betrays his utter contentment, curving around to rest against yours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed, as always. Let me know what you think? At least one more coming up, maybe more. we shall see :3
> 
> 9/13/19 edit: one more chapter, for I do believe I have the threads of a sequel coming together


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This late chapter brought to you by:  
-whoops it's long  
-several days of writers block at the start  
-some bits that are rather awkward to write on public transit
> 
> I sincerely hope you enjoy this wrap-up. I went in with fragments of moments that I've had in mind since the start, but I'm rather happy with how it came together. As always, sorry for any derp that I missed. I think I caught it all/most of it. Without further ado, have 10k of self-indulgent romantic probably soul-mate catboys.

"What are your thoughts? I do not have a taste for coffee, but if you pass a fair verdict, it may be prudent to import the grounds for sale here at the markets."

G'raha watches as you drain your cup, tilting the ceramic mug at a steep angle to down the last drops. The flavor is complex, dark and nutty with a hint of spice, but smooth from first sip. You close your eyes and savor the taste as it chases through you to warm your core.

"If it wouldn't turn me into a jittering mess, believe me, I would be having more." Now that your cider buzz has faded, you realize just in fact how tired you really are. You drank your two steaming cups in quick succession with the hope of remedying that unfortunate fact, but any more might be asking for trouble once the caffeine kicks in, since you don't know how strong the stuff is.

His knee presses into yours. You find yourself running your finger along the inside of the open cuff of his boot as he finishes the last of his tea. You do not mean it as a tease, but the look he gives you over his cup tells you he interprets it as such. 

You are helpless, _hopeless_, completely at his mercy, and he doesn't even realize it. His presence both soothes and stirs, and you do not know what to make of it. All you can wrap your head around is how right it feels to be back, that somehow you feel more like yourself with him than without.

G'raha's accusing smirk cracks into a beaming smile, and he tears his eyes from yours to indulge in a bashful laugh as he sets his empty cup on its matching saucer. Something twists in your chest at the precious sight. Even with how hard you both have fought and the price you continue to pay, you feel so incredibly lucky to finally be able to have this, to have _him_ for your own.

You wonder what he thinks when he looks at you, what he could possibly see capable of conjuring such a loving expression. Beyond the accolades and bloodshed weighing you down, even you aren't sure what's left of the naive adventurer you used to be. You became a hero and lost yourself along the way, but G'raha managed to find you, just as you did for him.

He notices your pensive look and offers his hand, crystal palm face up as it rests on his knee. You rest your hand on top of his and he weaves his fingers through yours. The ridges of gold encircling his middle finger feel vaguely like a ring.

"May I ask what is on your mind?"

"Many things," you say. "Mostly you."

G'raha tilts his head, offering you a cautious smile. "I would hope you consider that a positive thought."

"It isn't like you to fish for compliments," you say with a humorous edge.

"You know I am doing no such thing. I simply wish to know that you are well, and if you are not, what I can do to change that."

"I am quite well. I have not been this well in a very long time, to be truthful." Lifting G'raha's hand, you place a kiss on the smooth stone of his palm. "You know the way of it, how the mind wanders after a long day. The coffee will take effect soon, then I'll be as good as new. I just… I need to ask you something."

"Anything," he replies without hesitation. "What is it?"

"I know our situation is not ideal. Things certainly are not easy, and they probably never will be." You trace a fingertip along the gold line trailing his wrist, and he lets you, as if it were the vein that once pulsed beneath. "I know it isn't fair to ask of you when I'm the one that has to walk away now, but please, tell me you'll stay with me. Please say I get to keep you this time."

He says your name, drawing your eyes upward to meet his. He is more serious than you have seen him since the night in your room at The Pendants. "I had every expectation of losing my life at the conclusion of our battle. You know that. If not from freeing you from the light, then to the unraveling of the future we prevented. None of the possibilities I had predicted ever included my survival, so for some time I was quite at a loss as to how to proceed. I had even subtlety groomed Lyna to assume my post after my passing."

"Raha, please don't-"

He takes your hand in both of his when he sees the grimace form at the corner of your mouth. "Tis a morbid subject, I know full well, but necessary to what I am trying to tell you. Do you remember what I said in Kholusia? Back at the tower in Eorzea? The future is where my destiny awaits. It is how I reassured myself that everything was worthwhile, how I convinced my young, foolish self to sacrifice everything for a cause completely unknown to me at the time. With your victory, with my death, the story would come to its proper end. All would be made right. I accepted that long ago. But now… Norvrandt is saved, the Calamity shall not come to pass, and somehow I still draw breath to say that my destiny has been fulfilled. This future is one I never foresaw, but this time it belongs to _me_. To us. I will be with you as long as you will have me. I will be yours as long as you want me, and even still if there ever comes a time after, for I have _always_ belonged to you, ever since our eyes first met. Within the cold worlds we walk, you are my sun, my beloved." His touch travels to your wrist, resting over the stone on your cuff. Even separated by the rift, you are bound. "I would not see us parted unless it is what you wish."

"I would never wish that," you blurt instinctively, though the man has stunned you senseless to come up with anything else. My sun. _My beloved_. Though his meaning has been clear in every look and touch since you first saw the cowl knocked back from his head, it is another thing entirely to hear it put into unmistakable words that cannot be taken back. He loves you.

It is a word you've never heard spoken in the same phrase that you were mentioned in. To hear it from _him-_

You're not the hero of multiple worlds, you're a bumbling idiot completely unraveled by one of the simplest notions of mankind.

More than anything you want to reciprocate, to confess your heart in the same awe-inspiring way as he, but that isn't you. It would seem false, _forced_, and he deserves so much more than what you think he wants to hear.

G'raha wants _you_, so it is your imperfect self you shall be.

He looks into your eyes as you cup his cheek, not impatient, not awaiting reciprocation, only observing. Even as you thumb over the ridge of crystal on his face, he watches, waiting, just as he has done for a hundred years and more.

It's that thought that gives you the courage to speak. 

"You know I'm yours as well, don't you?"

You know full well your voice is shaking, airy and practically pathetic, but G'raha does not seem to notice. He looks at you as though he has been given the world's most cherished gift.

"You had given me reason to hope, though it is an unrivaled joy to hear you say so."

G'raha brushes his nose against yours, the sweep of his bangs tickling your skin. You smooth the spray of red and white hair away from his face.

"My Raha," you say so softly it could be mistaken for a whisper. "My love."

Simple yet effective, it works as you had hoped, not needing the bravado of a grand declaration. Calling him by his unadorned given name has always made him glow for you, but the new endearment simply illuminates him. He handles the revelation with more grace than you did, which doesn't surprise you in the least. His smile is radiant, eyes narrowing in that charming way of his as his ears flick and his tail happily swishes against the floor. You had hoped for a more romantic setting than the breakfast table for such an intimate exchange, but you don't quite care anymore. You could be anywhere and all you would see is him.

"I stand corrected. That is perhaps the only sentiment to rival hearing that you are mine."

"They go hand in hand, don't they?"

"I suppose you are right, though you'll have to excuse my ignorance. Matters of the heart are unfamiliar to me."

G'raha says it lightly, but he draws back to regard you more fully when you say, "Me too."

"That cannot be. You are adored by countless souls."

You shrug one shoulder with a weak exhale. "They adore what I am, not who I am. I have never entertained the notion of being anyone's personal conquest to boast of. Nobody wants to look past the Warrior to see who is underneath all that. Anyone who does finds a quiet man without much else going for him and promptly loses interest, which is for the best. That's not what I want. That's why I opened up to you back then. Sure, you knew who I was, but you didn't let that get in the way when we were alone. I had such a crush on you, and then you saw _me_."

"How could anyone not?" Disbelief wars with amazement as G'raha's comforting touch slowly travels up and down the underside of your forearm. "You are wonderful."

You watch his gloveless hand caressing you, blue against scarred skin. Entertaining a muffled, private laugh, you look up at him. "After you went to your slumber, there was someone in Ishgard I thought I might come to feel for, but it was not meant to be. It is probably silly to think so, but sometimes I have wondered if I was meant only for you. For me, it has only ever been you."

G'raha's eyes widen. You can practically see the thoughts racing behind them, so rapid that none of them are able to fully form into a conclusion. "Even before?" he asks, and you nod. "When I kissed you that night, was that-"

"My first," you finish. "And more recently my second."

His mouth hangs agape as he stares at you, his chest visibly heaving as all of his energy is devoted to processing the new information you've provided him, he nearly forgets how to breathe.

"Have you not-" G'raha grasps for words that will not come. "Has no one ever-"

"No one," you say, answering his fragmented questions. "I've never."

You think you may have broken him this time. It is not often the Exarch is left speechless. You take pity on his utter lack of composure by tugging on his hand, beckoning him to his feet to close the miniscule space that remains between you.

"Come here."

He does, climbing onto your lap to straddle your thighs. The sturdy chair only offers a small creak at the additional weight as he wraps his arms tight around you, burying his face in your hair. You return the embrace, holding him close as he practically vibrates out of his skin with sudden coiled tension.

"All this time I had worried that I had made an embarrassment of myself that night with my inexperience," he says against your ear. 

"You did no such thing. I assure you, if Cid had not interrupted us, we would have had a rather eventful evening."

You feel his breath hitch, his nails and strong crystal fingers digging into your shoulder blades.

"As much as I am loathe to imagine how you have endured all that you have without the comfort of another's arms, I must confess, I am beyond pleased to learn that you and I are on the same page, as it were."

Humming your agreement, you press a kiss to the crystal at the curve of his jaw. "A page that should be turned, don't you agree?" You mouth down his neck, eagerly displayed for you, until you reach the soft hollow underneath his jaw where his flesh begins to crystalize. The delicate sound he makes as you kiss the jagged edge, learning the feel of it beneath your tongue, is one you vow to commit to memory. His teeth close around the thick base of your ear, his fractured breath on the sensitive fur there making you shiver.

"I am in full agreement, though if you continue as you are, we will never make it to the fort."

The sultry rumble of his voice shoots heat straight through to your core.

"There are worse things that could happen," you say.

G'raha nips your ear again, making you gasp before he soothes the playful sting by nuzzling his cheek against it.

"They are expecting us. If we fail to appear, I fear they may send out a search party in the form of their Captain. Though Lyna is well aware that you and I are an item, there are some things I prefer she not bear witness to."

"Fair enough."

Craning your head back, you gaze up at him. His pupils have begun to dilate, black depths starting to stretch outward into the red rings of his irises. The sight makes the heat within you pulse. No, Lyna most certainly should not see him like this. You don't want anyone to see him like this, nor the way you intend to make him come apart beneath your touch.

"Mine," you say as you kiss him sweetly, giving voice to the possessive urge you can no longer suppress.

"Always."

If your kind hadn't lost the ability a long time ago, you imagine you'd both be purring.

He slides off of your lap, which is a torturous move in itself, then pulls you to your feet. Your hands find their way to his chest, resting on the metal plate, warm from being caught between you.

"It would not be wise to teleport so soon after expending the aether to pull you from the Source. Would you care to walk with me? 'Tis not far. I promise I do not need to lean on my staff for strength this time."

G'raha seems wont to turn from you, but he does so to retrieve the staff in question to fasten it to his back. He then grabs his bow and quiver from the table, strapping them to his hip. There is nearly an arsenal between the two of you, but you would not separate the Exarch from his staff. The power he wields with it is unparalleled on either Shard you traverse.

"A walk sounds nice. It'll give the caffeine time to start working." Following his lead, you grab your sword from the floor and thread it through your belt. "Has autumn arrived yet?"

"Nearly so." G'raha pulls his fingerless gloves on, then takes your hand as he leads your from the room. He is always so reluctant to abandon your touch when you are alone in the tower. You would be lying if you said you didn't love it. "Today is the last we will see of summer, I believe. It is quite warm, but the past days have brought a chill with them. The leaves have started to redden." 

You imagine Lakeland's lilac hues fading into crimson, the pastel canopy deepening to a warm blanket of earthen fire. "I can't wait to see that."

"It should be so beautiful once the season has fully arrived. I admit that I am excited for the change. The Sin Eaters and the light had more of an impact on this Shard than you have seen."

"I had wondered. The planet itself was affected as well, wasn't it?"

G'raha guides you down the familiar staircase which leads to the Dossal Gate. His boots sound on each step, echoing in the grand hall. "You saw the starving masses, the harvests that could only be considered sickly. Sin Eaters begat more Sin Eaters, preventing aether from returning to the lifestream before being reborn. The planet ails from the disrupted cycle of renewal. As such, the seasons have not turned as they should. Now that the light has been purged, I expect things should gradually return to the way they were intended. At any rate, I sincerely hope they do. I would like to watch the leaves fall, and snow gather on the domes of the Crystarium during the Starlight Celebration. I would like my people to experience how time is meant to pass, the way I once did." He shakes his head and looks at you apologetically. There is a far away glaze over his eyes that quickly dissipates. "I am rambling again. I am aware that I talk too much."

It isn't that, you think, rather that he finally has someone that will listen. You would walk beside him until your sandals give you blisters, until the soles of his boots are worn flat, if only to hear him tell of the decades spent on the First while waiting for the right moment to call you back to his side. What did he see when he took that first step from the tower after the Ironworks Alexander brought him to this star? What were the first years of the Crystarium like, harsh enough to turn a wide-eyed boy into a monarch in all but name?

G'raha has read your tales countless times, but there is so much unwritten about the man beside you. Just as you once did in Mor Dhona, you fully intend to to listen to every story G'raha is willing to share, though this time they will not be excerpts from Allagan history books, but tales of his own that would undoubtedly make the young scholar he once was gush with admiration.

"I do not talk enough," you counter, suppressing your own wandering thoughts for now. "I will never tire of listening to you, so please do not silence yourself for my benefit."

The look on his face is so content, so at peace as he releases your hand to pull open the mighty gate for you to pass. Sunlight spills into the tower, blinding you with early autumn's afternoon glare glinting off of the shining city before you. The sound of armor snapping to attention forces you to open your eyes. The gatekeep you have come to know well enough to endure small talk with addresses you with a salute. 

"My lord Warrior, I did not know you were in residence! Pray, forgive me." He bows, fist over his chest. "The Crystarium welcomes your safe return to Norvrandt."

"I had not sent word of my impending arrival, do not fret. It was rather sudden, but you have my thanks all the same."

The gatekeep rises from his bow and practically jerks at the sight of Exarch before casting his eyes to the ground. "Lord Exarch-" he begins with a tremor.

"At ease, my friend," G'raha says kindly as he pulls the gate closed behind him. "The Warrior of Darkness and I will be in attendance at Fort Jobb for a while before seeing to matters in Il Mheg. It shall be some time before I return. Should you require anything, I ask that you send correspondence through the Captain, would you please?"

"Certainly, my lord."

The gatekeep tears his eyes from the floor to meet the Exarch's gaze. G'raha offers him polite thanks and a nod in dismissal, which the gatekeep returns after a beat of flustered silence.

The exchange was no less professional than you are accustomed to between the Exarch and his guards, but certainly a degree more awkward. You wait until you have descended the steps and are safely out of earshot to address it. G'raha huffs in amusement next to you.

"Do not fault the man. I daresay this will take some getting used to for everyone."

Not grasping his meaning, you turn to him, brow knit. It is only then that you realize that you are looking into his eyes within the city proper, that his ears stand tall in the sunlight.

G'raha's hood is down.

Though you are surprised enough to stop in your tracks, you manage to only falter, continuing your pace beside him so as not to draw any further attention.

"When did you start leaving your head uncovered?"

G'raha smirks, looking momentarily down to watch his footsteps. "I said that I did not need to lean on my staff for strength, but I will ask that you allow me to continue leaning on you for courage. I am braver with you by my side, and beside you it now seems a foolish act to hide myself. It no longer serves any purpose but to protect my own feelings on the matter. But if the man I have given my heart to can look upon me and accept me as I am, then I find that I have no regard for what others might think."

A surge of emotions swell within you. You ache to take him in your arms, to tell him how incredibly proud of him you are that he has taken the final step and decided to show his face to the world. More important is what that decision means.

G'raha has come to terms with who he is. While you were gone, he found himself and accepted the man he has become.

As you walk towards the gate, stone gives way to wooden planks beneath your feet. You grip his bicep through his robe, the crystal within offering no give. He turns to you, eyes wide at the urgency of your touch.

"They will accept you, I promise you that. Your people love you." An amaro-drawn wagon approaches from the other end of the path and you release his arm, turning back to face the direction you're heading. The wagon rider calls a greeting as he trundles past, but the words escape your notice. Your voice lowers to a more private volume as you add, "_I_ love you."

The soft footfalls of your sandals are suddenly the only sound as the wagon wheels fade into the distance. You stop to find G'raha standing still behind you, watching you with a curious curve to his mouth.

"You know that I am an abysmal liar. It is likely because pretending anything other than the purest truth has never sat well with me." He holds his hand out to you, gloved crystal palm bared in offering. Again he says, this time with more purpose and weight: "I have no regard for what others might think. I have neither the ability nor the desire to pretend that I belong anywhere other than at your side."

His statement contains volumes, his offered hand a more vulnerable question than any you have ever heard. 

Do you wish to pretend, or will the Warrior of Darkness step into the light with the Crystal Exarch on his arm?

_The future is where my destiny awaits._

Your future stands before you, hand outstretched, awaiting your answer.

Threading your fingers through his, you squeeze his palm and pull him back into place at your side, though a good deal closer than before. Your joined hands hang between bow and katana, the weapons only ilms from clattering together as you resume walking.

You fall into silence as you fall into step. He returns the pressure on your hand, and you look over to find the soft, subtle smile on his face that is gradually making it's home there.

\---

G'raha has been practicing. He excuses his undiscussed archery sessions during your absence as a way of adjusting to drawing a bowstring with crystal instead of skin, but his fingers are as deft around the rawhide as they were back on the Source. You don't even bother keeping score. You know your way around a bow well enough to hunt down a meal during desperate times, but your aim never was and never will be as precise as his.

Loosing your final arrow, Chathwick sucks in an anticipating breath as it whizzes through the air. Your arrow pierces the target two rings shy of center. Not an attempt to be ashamed of, you think, but the Lieutenant hisses a pained '_oooh'_, squashing any pride you have remaining in your marksmanship. Sending a sour look his way, you hand your borrowed bow back to Lyna behind you.

"Would you care to cross swords with me, Lieutenant?" You goad the paladin with a raised brow. "Perhaps then I would prove a worthy opponent."

He rewards you with a hearty laugh. "Should I ever develop a death wish, I may take you up on that offer."

"Gentlemen, please." Lyna returns from placing your bow in the rack along the stone wall. "This is practice among brothers in arms."

"It seems more like a pissing contest to me," one of the mages who came to observe says.

"That also may not be far from the truth," Lyna concedes. "Well, it is time for the final arrow. Last but not least, Exarch?"

G'raha's ward was already accustomed to seeing him without hood or cowl, but his unhidden arrival still managed to surprise her. The soldiers of the fort were equally taken aback, though nothing if not tactful. The change in their commander was not addressed, but the air between superior and subordinates was lighter than you remembered. G'raha even openly asked them to refrain from the smothering string of _'my lords'_, going so far as to share his name. The soldiers gaped in horror at the thought of such familiarity, but he managed to get them to agree to 'Exarch'. It was one step further from crushing formality, and he seemed pleased enough with the small progress.

You trade places with him, stepping back as he approaches the line drawn in the dirt. G'raha positions his feet and draws an arrow from his quiver, then rolls his shoulders as he raises his bow. Watching his posture, you remember the muscles that are hidden now, the play of his strength beneath his Archon tattoos that were always proudly on display, the way his back would flex beneath the tight span of his vest.

Raw might has always been your strong suit, but there is something about the lithe, deft power of a skilled archer that amazes you. You always found guilty pleasure in watching him shoot his bow, wondering how those arms would feel around you, how his back would feel beneath your fingers.

You still want to know, now more than ever. You fully intend to find out.

G'raha nocks the arrow and sets the target within his sights with a purposeful breath. Anticipation builds within you as he pulls the string taut- nearly everyone is watching with bated breath, silent and waiting. The air snaps as he lets the arrow fly, and there is barely time to blink before it sinks directly into the center of the bullseye.

You bite the inside of your cheek, not to hold back a remark, but as an alternative to the instinct to sink your nails into your own skin. The soldiers don't need to see you so unnerved by their commander.

Riqi-Mao lets out a bright cheer, clapping for the masterful shot. As much of a treat it has been for all of the soldiers to have you both at practice, the Mystel has made no secret what a joy it has been to train with the man who once taught her family's former Matriarch a hundred years past. 

It isn't only her, but the entire group that applauds the bullseye that brings the scheduled practice session to a close. G'raha lowers his bow and turns, seeming not to expect the praise. He smiles bashfully at the ground before resetting his expression into one more fitting of a gracious leader.

"Please, enough of that. You all give me too much credit."

"That couldn’t be further from the truth," Chathwick ensures, clapping G'raha on the shoulder. The sportsmanlike gesture is unexpected, but something within you softens as G'raha returns the motion. "May we look forward to your company again at some point, both of you?"

"When time allows, I do hope so," G'raha replies. He hangs his bow on his hip, then fills his quiver with arrows from the communal bucket before tying it to his waist. "This has been a most welcome reprieve after two days of diplomatic council."

"Anything would be a reprieve from so many meetings," Lyna remarks, generating a laugh from the group.

"Tis necessary, though I do not disagree with your sentiment," he admits.

The afternoon bell sounds three times, it's chime round and full as it bounces off the fractured walls of the fort. Lyna claps her fist into her palm, gauntlets clacking loud before she gives a sharp whistle.

"Afternoon assignments, everyone! That is enough fun for today."

The soldiers scurry at her shrill command, but Riqi-Mao stops to bow to both you and the Exarch.

"Thank you both for your company," she says with glowing sincerity.

"Thank you for allowing us to join you, Lieutenant," G'raha says. "I assure you, we will undoubtedly be imposing on your generosity again."

You nod. "I'll do better next time, just you wait."

The Mystel smiles, her ears flicking as she laughs. "All the more reason to come to practice," she says with a mischievous lilt, then stiffens into a formal salute. "By your leave, sirs?"

G'raha inclines his head in dismissal, and the young Lieutenant scampers off after her fellow soldiers. He grabs his staff from where it rests against the wall.

Lyna clears her throat, drawing both your attention and his. "Am I correct to assume that the two of you will not be at the tower for supper this evening?"

"We will fend for ourselves today, yes," G'raha replies, for which you are thankful. Your mind has been thoroughly preoccupied, incapable of thinking that far ahead.

"Very well." She glances between the two of you, seemingly reading you but not willing to interpret the text. You wouldn't either, if you were in her position. "Enjoy your day, gentlemen. I shall see that any matters that arise are deferred until the morn."

Lyna departs with a salute before further conversation makes this situation any more uncomfortable for her. She is a grown woman, and though you know little of her personal life, you know she is most certainly not stupid. The newly rediscovered love of her caretaker's life has returned after two and a half months of absence, and she is now fully aware that he is not the elderly mage he once made himself out to be. In fact, Lyna looks to be much the same physical age as you and G'raha.

As awkward as this turn of events must be for her, she understands, and she loves him and respects you enough to work double duty today to gift you the day of privacy she knows full well you both deserve. 

G'raha touches your arm, drawing your attention back to him. "How are you feeling? Do you need to rest?"

"I don't think I could." You're at the advanced stage of tired where it loops back around into feeling energetic, running rapid on your reserves. There's a fuzzy ache for sleep simmering under your skull, and you know you need it, but any rest you seek will evade you. 

He hums, seeming to understand. "Perhaps if you do wish to postpone our nap, you would indulge me in a small request?"

"What would you ask of me?"

"It may be our last chance before the season fully turns. Will you come swimming with me? I have been wanting to do so since you spoke to me from the falls."

"I would love to." Hooking a finger through a metal loop on his belt, you tug at his hip. "Fair warning, though. I don't have a swimsuit like I used to."

"For shame." He returns your flirtatious touch, playing with one of the seams on your shirt. "It sounds as though I will have to see you in your smallclothes then." 

"My condolences."

G'raha laughs, a sputtering, undignified thing that makes his nose scrunch.

_Adorable._

"Tis I who should be saying such things to you," he says in his usual self-deprecating way, though there is no sadness in his words, no weight of worry. "I have not had a need for swim trunks since our time in Mor Dhona. In truth, I believe I left them in our tent."

"You did. They were still hung out to dry when you left me."

Now sorrow flashes in his eyes, hearing his slumber worded so, but he forces it aside. "I will not be leaving you again."

You brush your lips against his forehead. "Ready to go?"

"Quite."

Releasing his belt, you make to lead him back toward the entrance of the fort so you can reach the aetheryte. He had mentioned Il Mheg earlier to the gatekeep, so some degree of travel is going to be required.

G'raha doesn't follow. You turn back to him with a questioning frown.

"That won't be necessary. Do you trust me?"

"You have no need to ask that question of me anymore."

Your answer seems to satisfy him. He peels off his gloves and stores them within the folds of his robe. He takes your hand within his, crystal palm flat against your calloused one. Aether begins to prickle where you are connected, and his eyes beckon you to follow his lead. You let a small pulse of your own aether mingle with his, and his energy seizes yours, not with a ferocious grip, but a firm, protective hold.

"This body of mine is a curse, but my affliction is not without it's occasional benefit."

G'raha's free arm finds its way around your shoulder and brings you close against his chest. You rest your temple against his hair, and your aether calms it's startled dance, recognizing his. Your life force has reached out to countless crystals, but the initial shock of having one reach back, alive and searching, is enough to nearly take your breath away.

"Just like that. I knew you would let me in," he whispers, rife with praise. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," you sigh. "It's you."

The familiar sensation of teleportation overcomes you, your feet lifting from the earth as energy swirls around you until it envelops you both. When you feel solid ground beneath your sandals again, you open your eyes to the vast shimmering surface of Longmirror Lake, speckled with it's floating clusters of flowers and lilypads.

The nearest aetheryte is across the lake.

A disbelieving laugh escapes your lips. He flinches as the puff of air tickles his ear.

"I had no idea you could do that."

G'raha draws back to look at you as he severs the bond of aether between your hands. "'It is my preferred method of travel for short term trips, when I will not be away from the tower for long enough that my strength will wane."

"I guess it's safe to say it doesn't work like standard aether travel where you can just touch someone and bring them, like I do with my chocobo."

"Unfortunately not. I tried to bring my amaro once long ago, and that failure led to my learning the specifics. Only my aether can teleport unbound by an aetheryte. Or in this case, _our_ aether temporarily joined as one, even if only along the slightest edge. It should be easier going forward now that your aether knows the feel of mine."

The way he describes it is so staggeringly intimate, you don't know what to say. A sliver of his life force melding with yours, for a moment bound so thoroughly they could not be distinguished as _you and I_, but rather _us_.

"You're incredible, you know that?"

"I shall pass your compliments along to Syrcus Tower," G'raha says. 

You nudge his chin with your knuckles, a half-hearted reprimand. At least he isn't directly refusing your praise or hiding his face in embarrassment as he did not long ago. It isn't perfect, but it's progress, and you'll gladly take it wherever you can find it.

G'raha briefly presses his mouth to yours, signing the kiss with a finishing brush of his lips against your jaw. With that, he begins to untie his weapons, resting them against one of the boulders near the cliff wall that extends upward into the towering majesty of Lyhe Ghiah.

You set aside your sword and lower yourself to the plush green grass of Mithai Glorianda. The small patch of land at the base of the tower is not hidden, but secluded enough to have escaped your notice for the better part of your travels. A scarce smattering of evergreens rise up around you, between them swirling purple puffs shine, reminding you of miniature cloud mallows.

"I had intended to come here at some point. This is a very relaxing spot," you say as you undo the straps of your sandals. 

"It is. I like to come here when I have the need of both privacy and fresh air."

"A perfect place to swim."

G'raha sits beside you and pulls off his boots, placing them neatly in the grass as opposed to your unceremoniously tossed sandals that land somewhere behind you. Your shirt is halfway over your head when you hear the shifting sounds of metal as he unfastens his weighted belt and chest piece. The high afternoon sun beams warm on your bare chest as G'raha still struggles with the many trappings of his robe.

When he finally frees his upper body from his many layers save for his necklace, he looks more self conscious than you've seen him in a while. You sleep beside one another in your trousers every night, but even you can admit it's not the same as baring your skin to the unforgiving daylight. The scars that cover your body in unholy numbers have always made you reluctant to undress, but G'raha has shown them nothing but adoration. All the same, you love the climb of crystal up his right side that wraps around his neck and shoulders. It shines in the sunlight, and he notices you looking.

"What is it?" he asks, almost nervously.

"Nothing. I enjoy looking at you." Pink rises in his cheeks. "Should I stop?"

"I would not ask you to cease something you enjoy, no matter how I fail to understand why. I assure you I am trying to."

You stroke your fingers over his tail that rests between you. "You should be able to swim like that, if you prefer. That fabric handles water well."

G'raha shakes his head adamantly. "I just need a moment."

The last thing you want to do is rush him. You've never stripped for anyone either, and even without whatever crystal decorates his covered skin, you're nervous. Aside from your scars, you like to think you are easy on the eyes, but that doesn't stop you from being anxious over what he thinks of you. It's all ridiculous, you know, because whatever G'raha's body looks like, you will worship it all the same. Similar unfounded worries are likely plaguing him now.

If he needs a moment, he can have as many as he wants.

You roll over onto your knees and squeeze his leg. "Whenever you're ready," you say before springing to your feet. 

The solid ground turns to squishy swamp between your toes as you approach the edge of the lake. You untie the knot above your tail and undo the buttons of your fly, tugging down and stepping out of your trousers. You cast them over your shoulder and step into the cool, refreshing water in nothing but your cotton smallclothes.

The lakebed is a steady slope, until it isn't. You pitch forward with a yelp at the sudden sharp drop, disappearing beneath the surface in a rush of bubbles.

When you surface, G'raha is laughing at your misfortune, higher-octave giggles spilling free. You whip your hair out of your face and tread in the open water, watching him having a grand old time at your expense.

"I was testing it out for you!" you call so he can hear you over his own amusement, then promptly descend back below the water in an agile swirl of limbs.

It is easy to open your eyes to take in the incredible aquatic scenery. Sunken stone structures span the lakebed, coated in algae with fractured points of light that stream through between the large flowers that float above. This place has a magic all its own, and you would expect nothing else from the land of the fae.

You swim a tight loop around one of the stone spires before rising to the surface of the water. What awaits you brings a smile to your face.

G'raha crouches in the knee-deep water right where you tripped. When your eyes meet, he springs forward into a dive, cutting down into the depths. You float, soaking up the sun's rays as you wait for him, watching his form distorted by the rippling water.

He comes to you, poking his head up directly in front of where your wade. His wet hair is a deeper shade of red, slicked back between his ears.

"I'm happy to see you've decided to join me," you say as he watches you. Droplets cling to his lashes, red eyes with sunlit pupils naught more than sharp slivers piercing through you.

"I have been disillusioned. Here I thought you incapable of moving with anything but grace."

The moment that the corner of his mouth twitches, the game is up. You narrow your eyes and he lunges aside just in time to avoid your splash. You launch after him, catching him around the waist and dragging you both beneath the water in a laughing mess.

With no regard for grace, you swim and play like the carefree boys you once were, only now you do not withdraw your touch before it can linger. You hold him like you both always wanted to, but neither of you were brave enough to take that step. 

A race around one of the submerged winding stairways leaves you both gasping for breath. In need of a moment's rest for your weary bones, you swim over to the drop off and sit with your legs dangling over the deep, the water lapping at your ribs until it stills.

G'raha swims up to you and crosses his arms atop your knees, gazing at you wordlessly. He looks like some ethereal creature, the siren you jokingly thought yourself to be as you sunned yourself on the rocks of Bloodshore. You pat your leg in invitation and he climbs onto your lap, legs perpendicular to yours.

He nestles against your chest, and you drape an arm low around his waist beneath the surface of the water. Your other hand busies itself tracing the shape of the crystal along his right thigh, thick at his hip before it tapers into a jagged point just before his knee. What truly intrigues you but you do not touch, not yet, is the spray of shards wrapping around from where they corset his lower back. One follows the cut of his hip bone and disappears beneath his black smallclothes, and you ache to follow it with your touch, your mouth, but you wait. Not yet. You are overwhelmed enough with the gift of his newfound comfort to be so free with you, to finally laugh again, just like when you were young enough to think you'd never lose that freedom.

His hand finds its way into your sodden hair, raking it back with his fingernails. A quiet, barely audible hum breaks the silence. You likely only hear it because his mouth is so close to your ear. The sound is hypnotic, and you lean into his touch as he pets you in time with his languid, mournful melody.

G'raha's hum turns to song, and you give yourself over to the glorious, nearly whispered tenor that holds you captive in its embrace.

_"For whom weeps the storm?_  
_Her tears on our skin._  
_The days of our years gone,_  
_Our souls soaked in sin._" 

Your heart pangs sharp in your chest, beating too fast, a mismatched allegro to the adagio of his gorgeous, unhurried voice, the unhurried path you've walked to arrive at this moment.

_"These memories ache with the weight of tomorrow."_

The note he holds rings clear, more beautiful than anything you've heard in ages. You press your lips to his throat and feel the sound vibrating within him, and you bring your hand to rest over his heart. His pulse beats beneath your fingers, beneath your mouth as you kiss the source of his music, of the breath that breaks with want. His grip tightens in your hair, then releases to dig nails into the sensitive hollow behind your ear, scratching in slow, purposeful strokes that fan the burning flames within your depths.

_"Who fights?_  
_Who flies?_  
_Who falls?"_

Anticipation of what you know must be the chorus grabs hold of your barely contained desire, setting you afire with the enormity of everything you feel for this man, the other half of your soul that you had never dared hope to find again. 

A century of longing hangs between you as the high, sonorous note fades away. You can't help yourself. You can't keep this to yourself, this crushing need to love him like he has always deserved to be loved during all of his lonely years. He is so beautiful, everything he is and was, and you want him to _feel_ beautiful, as beloved as he makes you feel.

G'raha sings softly into your ear, and you can hear the smile through the hopeful words, amidst the melody that flows from his lips with such conflicting innocence and seduction. 

_"Stand tall my friend._  
_May all of the dark lost inside you find light again."_

Your doting kisses against his neck grow insistent, your teeth dragging dull against skin and pressing into the tender flesh beneath his jaw. G'raha gasps at the claim, tilting his head aside for you in invitation to carry on. Even still, he sings for you.

_"In time tumbling turning we seek amends._  
_Eternal winds to the land descend,_  
_Our journey will never end."_

Entranced by his song, you kiss down along his offered shoulder, your tongue gliding along a rivulet of gold once the phrase has ended. He squirms in your lap, stunned fingers sinking into your hair at the new sensation. His shifting presses his hip against your growing arousal, and he moans at the feel of it. The sound has heat blooming outward from your core, scorching every inch of you. His hand fists in your hair as he rests his head on yours, audible breath coming harsher, less controlled.

Even in the chill of the lakewater, he burns hot enough to reduce you to ash. Until that evening beside Lake Silvertear, you had not known if your scholar would prove to be timid or torrid, but he surprised you when he took the lead, when you first felt his teeth on the shell of your ear.

In retrospect, your surprise was unwarranted. G'raha has always lived his life with an unparalleled passion for all things. Just because he always had his nose in a book didn't mean that he would be shy under your touch. As in all things, he is eager to learn.

A half-formed thought has you reaching for his braid. You've never seen his hair properly loose, only bits of his braid escaping sleep-mussed binds, and that seems an unforgivable oversight to you now. G'raha makes a curious noise as you remove the tie from the base of his braid, letting it roll over your hand onto your wrist to rest beside your cuff. He straightens so that he can look at you, to study you as you pull his wet hair apart. Unwoven red and white glides through your fingers as his hair spills free in waves around his shoulders.

"Is it to your liking?"

He is wild, eyes searching with pupils blown and his hair a gorgeous mess of your own making.

The question isn't merely about his faded red locks, that much is evident. There is too much weight to his voice and unneeded room left for hurt that will not come, but he is accustomed to creating the space as a buffer.

You answer him with the truth.

"I have never seen anything so beautiful as you."

G'raha cups your face in both hands and kisses you with everything he has, stealing your breath away with relieved gratitude and uncaged passion. He leaves you panting for air as he rests his forehead against yours.

"I believe it would perhaps be best if we conclude our afternoon swim," he says, voice so husky that you know you couldn't even remember how to swim if you tried.

"That would be wise, yes."

G'raha climbs off of you and helps you to your feet. You are loathe to let him go if only for a moment, but he sidesteps the scattered mess of clothing and armor to retrieve his staff from where it rests against the boulder. You stand amid your makeshift nest and watch as he approaches you, looking like a righteous god wrought of crystal and tempting hellfire.

He holds the staff close to his chest and shuts his eyes to whisper his vanishing spell. The implications of those words have your arousal throbbing between your legs.

The sound his staff makes when he casts it aside reverberates within you. You lower down to the grass with your legs outstretched and offer your hand. He accepts, allowing you to guide him back to his favorite place atop your thighs, sitting further back on your knees.

Running your hand along his arm, you coax G'raha to be at ease. Your fingers trail along the gold that ribbons him. He shudders at the feel of your lips on the soft underside of his wrist. You let him go and lean back on your hands in the grass, his continuing their path until they catch on your straining smallclothes. His mouth falls agape and he bites his lip to close it. He touches you, not where you ache for it most, but along the cotton covering the top of your muscled thigh.

"_Oh_, look how lovely you are."

Even despite the awe he displays, you cannot suppress a chuckle.

"That is not the word I would use," you say.

"I assure you, I most certainly would." G'raha skims the tip of his finger along the skin beneath your waistband. He tugs on the elastic and glances up at you. "May I?"

"That is another question you never need to ask. I already told you, I'm yours. I mean that in every sense of the word."

"Then I am free to touch that which belongs to me?"

You crane forward to kiss him as you whisper, "Please do."

"Would you lie back for me?"

You comply, reaching behind to move your tail before resting in the sun-warmed grass. G'raha peels your soggy translucent smallclothes back from your skin, lifting them up and over you as you cant your hips. The elastic snaps as it snags on your bottom, but he tugs the material down to bunch at your knees. He leans aside to help as you kick them impatiently off to free your legs.

G'raha kneels over you with adoration and hunger. Your hips buck at his first curious touch, moaning weakly as his crystal fingers close loosely around you. It feels so different than skin on skin, but the solid feel of him around you is more alluring than you could have ever predicted, and simply knowing it is _him_ has your traitorous eyes closing of their own volition. You force them open, lids heavy with growing lust, but you refuse to miss the sight of him now.

"In my weakest moments I have often wondered what you look like, what sounds you make when you give yourself over to pleasure." G'raha closes his hand more firmly around you, silken skin beneath stone as his touch begins to move over you. "So many times I have dreamed of what it would be like to learn how to make you sing for me. Though I always imagined that you would be the one to teach me how you like to be touched, what I could do to bring you bliss. I suppose we will have to discover that together."

His hand twists with a gentle squeeze at the head of your cock, and you barely suppress a cry as your back arches up from the ground. You reach for him in your desperation, pulling him forward over you. You need to kiss him, to feel the way his body melds with yours. His hair falls wet around your face, and you slick it back with a brush of your hand. 

G'raha licks into your mouth, leaning his weight onto one elbow so he can continue his attentions. You open for him, hot breath mingling as he seizes the kiss and reduces you to an incoherent mess. His hand glides easily over you, wet with your building need, and though you can barely form an intelligent thought, this is decidedly too one-sided for your liking. He is not the only one with yearning dreams. You too have dreamed of making him lose himself in your arms, and that is exactly what you intend to do.

Abandoning the delicious feel of the muscles in his back working beneath your touch, you grab his waistband with both hands and pull his cock free from it's confinement. It is primal instinct how he thrusts into your grasp, how a cry rips through him when you adjust his hand to wrap around both of you, your length hot against his beneath your joined touch. You cannot see him, but the thick weight of him beneath your fingers is enough to know that he is everything you could have hoped for and more.

"So clever for me, my love."

G'raha's praise pulls a low whine from you, now certainly not being the moment when words will start coming easily to you. You increase the pressure on his hand and he sucks in a breath, bowing his head against your shoulder as he works his fist over you both, giving in to the quicker pace you encourage with abandon. His tail whips behind him, agitated and overwhelmed as he pants against your skin. You aren't in much better shape, but you let your free hand find its way into his hair, soothing him with light but deliberate scratches along his scalp.

"It's alright, Raha, you can let go. I'm right here with you."

Barely a moment later he growls and sinks his teeth into your shoulder as he goes still above you. Even as his release consumes him, he urges you towards your own. The dull pain of the bite and the spill of heat in your hand has you following fast, and only when your world turns blinding white does he rest heavy against you.

You open your eyes to see him kneeling beside you, sitting back on his heels. Somewhere in the span of seconds you were lost to the world, he decided to remove his smallclothes instead of pulling them back up. As captivating as the sight of G'raha completely at ease in his vulnerability with you is, wearing nothing but the necklace you made for him, you are distracted by your shirt which he clutches in his hands.

"May I use this to clean us?"

You nod with a giddy laugh, throwing a boneless arm over your eyes. "Don't want to dirty your robe?"

"I have other plans for it."

G'raha cleans you up as best he can before doing the same for himself. You peek at him from under your arm and delight in the scarlet blush that coats his skin, nearly bright enough to rival the color of his fur when it isn't damp with lakewater.

"I think I might need that nap now," you mutter, your voice tired and rumbling even to your own ears.

"You and I both." He places the soiled shirt behind him and retrieves his robe, unfurling it with a shake. "A nap, then perhaps another swim before we return home."

"Nothing else?"

G'raha smiles at your playful mischief. He lies beside you in the grass and snuggles up against your chest, all while pulling the robe around the two of you like a blanket.

"I did not say that, I said _before_ we leave. After is another story entirely. Much more time than that away from the tower will leave me weak, and I would rather like to swim with you beneath the moonlight while I can. Other activities can be resumed in our chambers."

"I like the way you think," you say, resting your head on his arm. 

"I like you."

"I would hope so, at this point."

G'raha laughs softly, his nose crinkling and tribal markings scrunching together. When a silent yawn overtakes you, he skims his fingers over what you know must be teeth marks on your shoulder.

"I apologize if I hurt you."

"You didn't. I like it when you bite me. It's not like you're a Keeper and I have to watch out for fangs, so you can do it whenever you want."

His eyes widen at that unexpected revelation, but his pleased smirk shows you the truth of his thoughts on the matter. "I will keep that in mind," he says. "You should know, as well, that my hip… It is the newest crystal to grow. It isn't sharp, but still rough. It may irritate your skin if we eventually decide to… indulge in other activities."

"When we decide," you correct. "It won't bother me, I promise you. I love every part of you. So what if I get a little scratched up sometimes?"

The languid mess you left G'raha in manages to melt even further as you scratch your nails in the hair at the base of his skull.

"You are too good to me," he purrs.

"There is no such thing."

It is his turn to yawn, stretching out and resting full against you, your legs twining beneath the heavy cloak that is completely soaked in his scent. Countless unsaid words hang between you, but they do not weigh you down. You feel light, wrapped up in him and the palpable love he radiates.

There are so many questions you wish to ask him, and so many hurdles ahead for you both to climb, but right now you do not have the energy for discussion. You want to stay awake to talk, but your sated body has been without rest for too long. There will be time for everything tomorrow, and all of the tomorrows that will follow.

So many nights in years past you were haunted by dreams of him just like this, only to wake to find yourself greeted by the persistent aching knowledge that he was gone. Now you know that he will stay by your side, right where he belongs.

"Sleep well, my love," he murmurs against your forehead.

You are asleep before you can answer, but it doesn't matter. This time he will be there when you wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for taking your time to read this and for those that have offered kudos and such lovely encouraging comments along the way. You guys made this such a rewarding journey, and I would love to hear what you thought!
> 
> I'll be starting a multi-chapter sequel soon, so if that's of interest, subscribe to the 'series' or my writer tag thing, or keep an eye out. I love writing these two too much to let them go.


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